


This Hell We've Made

by BewareTheIdes15



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, Mutant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-24
Updated: 2011-06-24
Packaged: 2017-10-20 17:02:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 12
Words: 68,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/215020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BewareTheIdes15/pseuds/BewareTheIdes15
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Except for the fact that they were both born with remarkable superhuman abilities, and a seething mutual dislike, Jared and Jensen have nothing in common. Turns out, though, that they may also be the only ones who can save each other from themselves.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> My first AO3 posting so I apologize if I screw it up! Let me know and I'll fix!
> 
> Anyway, here's a little mutant!AU, kind of X-Men-esque. Mostly there's a lot of porn and angst, but fair warning, there are brief depictions of past abuse, self-harm and mild dubcon. But, like I said, mostly just boy!porn.

Jensen's head throbs in time with his heartbeat when he wakes. Every surge of blood, loud in his ears, feels like his brain is pressing, spongy and overheated against the inside of his skull. It hurts like a sonofabitch, gets worse when he tries to shake off the grogginess keeping his eyelids weighted. It takes a hell of a lot longer than it should to actually get enough control over his body to get a look at the place they’ve taken him, not that there's much to see.

He's in a stainless steel room, maybe 10x10, empty except for himself, the chair he's cuffed to at the wrists, elbows and ankles - which is in turn bolted to the floor; these fuckers know what they're doing - and another empty seat directly across from him. The glare of the fluorescents recessed into the ceiling above bounce off of the empty metal chair accusingly.

Ok, options. He remembers cops, or maybe the SWAT team or something; definitely 'law enforcement officials'. Five or six of them, all done up in black from their riot helmets to their thick-soled boots - every inch of it gleaming dully like rubber. Weird fucking cops, then. He'd braced for the bite of bullets shunking into his skin when they'd fired off their rounds and instead ended up with the prick of syringe darts and hot, liquid sleep slinking through his veins. Sneaky fuckers. Sneaky fuckers who knew how much tranq it would take to bring Jensen down. Now there's a scary idea.

The shuff of the electronic door sliding open jerks Jensen out of his thoughts, focusing squarely on the men entering the room. It's just the two of them, the oldest - middle aged, but tough looking with dark, sharp eyes and one of those pinstriped suits that inevitably means trouble - takes the chair across from Jensen, relaxing back into it like they're all a bunch of old pals getting together to grab a beer. The younger one - ok, much younger; he'd been thrown off by the guy's height, but Jensen's probably a couple of years older than Sasquatch there - stands behind the first man and slightly to the side, leaning against the wall.

Between that and the hard, wary look on his face, Jensen gets the impression the young guy doesn't want to be here - welcome to the fucking party. Then again, the guy's wearing that same black, rubberized - and *ahem* seriously body conscious; hello abdominals! - get up that the team who'd taken Jensen down had been sporting, so maybe he's just a bodyguard or something and he gets paid to look all stony.

"Hello, Jensen," the older one starts, bringing one foot up so his ankle's sitting across the opposite knee. "My name is Jeff. I apologize for the unorthodox nature of our meeting, but it was really the only way of doing things without ending up on the police radar. How are you feeling? Would you like some water? A soda?" He smiles like every social worker Jensen's ever known; he hates 'Jeff' immediately.

"I'm good, thanks," replies, putting in every ounce of snark he can physically manage. Fuck this guy.

Jeff's smarmy face falls a little bit, but the expression seems more real now. The young dude's eyebrows hitch lower, not quite a scowl aimed at not quite Jensen's face.

"Fine, then we'll get right down to business," Jeff troops on, some of the sugary sweetness extracted from the tone. He fixes Jensen with piercing eyes and Jensen has to actively fight not to squirm. "You think you're special, don't you Jensen?" Jensen’s mouth opens on a snide comeback but Jeff's raised hand forestalls him, "You're right. You are special. Hell, they pumped enough elephant tranquilizer in you not an hour ago to kill a small herd of, well, elephants, and here you are up and at 'em again. You barely even look sleepy. Pissed off, but not sleepy." Jeff quirks a smile at him and Jensen wonders how fast his enamel will grow back if he grinds his teeth to powder during this conversation. "So yes, you're very special, the best self-healer I've ever seen, but you're not unique."

Jensen gets stuck somewhere around 'self-healer'. It's a good term for what he does, he guesses, but why the hell does this guy even know what he can do? Jensen's always been careful; his parents are the only ones who'd ever seen him injured enough to be able to put it together, but they were too tweaked out last Jensen heard for anybody to believe anything they said.

Jeff makes a small 'mmm' that might be a laugh and nods. "You thought you were the only one with gifts, Jensen? Not at all. You may be exceptional, but there are plenty of other people with their own abilities, some even more powerful than you. Jared here, for example," he lifts a hand to indicate the young guy leaning against the wall. Hazel eyes flicker up over Jensen's - never quite locking - in a semblance of a surly greeting, then slip back down to the spot just beyond Jensen's shoulder. "Jared is precognitive. That means he can see the future, so if you were planning on some daring escape, don't." It's only half a joke and Jensen feels his spirits sink. So much for that brilliant, not yet formed idea. "Everyone on our team has special attributes."

"Your team?" he asks coldly. So that explains who the rubber-fetishist are. For the moment he's just going to ignore the mindfuck that is the idea of other people running around with... ok, in his head, he's always called his healing thing a superpower, but aside from that rockin' body, Jared doesn't exactly look like he's going to be starring in any comic books any time soon, so maybe he needs a new term for it. Fuck, this is way too much.

"Yes,” Jeff nods, undeterred, "my team, Jared's team, and with any luck, your team."

Jensen feels the sneer curving his lips, doesn't do anything to disguise it. "I don't play well with others."

Jeff actually laughs at that, low but throaty and genuine. "Yes, I'm well aware of that. I'm well aware of absolutely everything there is to know about you, actually." Jensen's mind screeches to a halt. Shit, Jeff said everyone on the team has powers, that means he must have powers too. Oh shit shit shit, what if he can read minds or something crazy like that? What if he knows what Jensen's thinking right now? What if he knows how Jensen's been paying for that fucking hotel room they busted him in? What if he just heard Jensen refer to himself as having a 'superpower'? Christ this sucks.

Jared huffs a breath that sounds really close to a stifled laugh, but by the time Jensen looks up, his face is stoic again.

"And in the spirit of fairness, I think that there are some things you should be aware of too," Jeff continues as if totally unaware of Jensen's little mental freak out. Maybe he is; maybe Jensen got the mind reading thing wrong? Compulsively, he crosses his fingers behind the chair in hope. "You're in a lot of trouble Jensen. Big time legal trouble. The police know that you were involved in that warehouse fire and with the amount of cocaine residue they found, they aren't just going to let things slide - they've had your hotel staked out for over a week, just waiting on the lab work to come through."

"Hey, it wasn't my-"

"Doesn't matter," Jeff cuts in before he can even work up to some good righteous indignation. "You have a history of getting mixed up with dangerous crowds, and between the deadly weapons charge in juvenile hall and the gambling ring and the solicitation arrest last year, there's no way they're not going to lay this on you. You've made yourself the perfect fall guy."

Through some miracle of physics, Jensen's guts have spontaneously frozen solid. Maybe that's Jeff's power.

Sure, the juvie record is sealed, but lawyers have pulled off trickier things than getting his underage records let into evidence. He was never technically charged when the underground fighting ring got busted, but everybody who ever went knows he was dishing it out on a weekly basis back then and there's probably more than one pussy-ass fucker who'd like to stick him with an assault charge just for handing them their balls in the ring. There's no way around the prostitution conviction - they'd had him dead to rights with the cash in one hand and the john's cock in the other. So a trafficking charge might not technically be his third strike, but with the right evidence, Jeff's right, any judge on the bench would throw the book at Jensen. And prison is pretty low on Jensen's list of things to do before he dies.

Alright then, brass tacks. "So is this just rain on my parade day or are you offering a solution?" Normally he'd cross his arms over his chest, but for now he's got to settle for sliding a fraction deeper into the chair and trying to look apathetic instead of like his heart is slowly mountaineering up his esophagus.

"I'm offering to press the reset button on your life," Jeff replies succinctly, "Jensen Ross Ackles will cease to exist in every legal sense - every record of your existence, birth certificates and immunizations all the way up to that unfortunate mug shot of yours will spontaneously combust and you will disappear into the ether. All of your problems," he snaps his fingers, "solved."

"In exchange for what?" Jensen asks, although pretty much anything short of lifetime water-torture seems like a bargain at this point. He'd happily hand over his immortal soul for an offer like this, for a hell of a lot more reasons than skipping out on prison.

Jeff smiles again, soft like he already knows he's got Jensen hook, line and sinker. Fuck, he probably does - probably knew it before he walked in the room. No wonder the bastard's so chipper.

"In exchange for you becoming part of the team."

Jared shifts, fingers toying idly with the catch of one of the pouches on his honest to god, utility belt. Maybe Jensen had been wrong about the comic book thing.

Jensen gives the guy - kid - a long cursory look, letting his eyes linger on the curves and dips of toned, lickable muscle and long, lean legs.

"Basketball?" he guesses sarcastically, grinning at the scowl/fist-clench combo it earns from the tall boy.

Jeff chuckles freely, reaching out to place a comforting pat on Jared's thigh. Well, that's interesting - Jensen hadn't pegged Jeff for the type. So, Jared has precognition and daddy issues; that must be an interesting blend. Jared's scowl deepens.

"What we do is largely law enforcement based, but on a very specialized level," Jeff explains, hand back in his own lap now, "Think of it as a very unique branch of the CIA, but without all of the media attention and public awareness."

"So... you're, like, spies?"

That laugh again. Ok, that's getting annoying. "More like black ops. U.N. funded, but very hush-hush. For the most part we deal with high-level security risks as well as individuals who have gifts like you and Jared but who misuse them and become a danger to themselves and others."

A superhero team. Jensen doesn't want to think it, feels twelve years old for thinking it, but its right there anyway and, hey, it's kinda true. He's kinda being recruited by a kinda superhero team to fight kinda supervillians and those were either the best tranqs ever or this is a really awesome dream.

Either way, it's not like there's a better offer on the table.

"I'm in."

"Well," Jeff says, at least managing not to laugh this time, though he looks like he'd like to, "There are a few more things you should probably know."

"I get to beat up dudes and carry a gun and not go to jail?"

"Yes, but-"

"You gonna brainwash me or use me for medical experiments or something?"

"No, of course not."

"Then I can handle it. I'm in."

Jensen nods firmly, the rhythm section in his skull completely subsided by now. He doesn't know how the fuck normal people deal with pain like that in the long term; he'd rather stick his hand in a blender.

Jeff looks at him with amusement while Jared seems primed to argue, but miraculously doesn't. Whatever hold this Jeff guy has over the kid, Jensen wouldn't mind learning the secret; having his own personal bitch boy would be fun, especially with an ass like Jared's.

Finally the older man nods shortly and stands. Jared looks perplexed and no little bit put out, but he follows as Jeff walks out of the room, giving some kind of hand signal to the guards standing outside the door. Jared glances over his shoulder at Jensen one last time looking deadly, but he’s pretty sure there’s something underneath the threat in those hazel eyes that he couldn't quite put his finger on.

Just as quickly, both the men are gone and the guards enter the room, one keeping a tranq gun aimed firmly at Jensen while the other unlatches that catches on his cuffs.

Jensen just smiles.

***

"Thoughts? Opinions? Random outbursts?" Jeff breezes as Jared follows him down the bland, utilitarian hallway.

Jared huffs but answers smoothly, "He seems pretty easy to read so far, but then we've had him up against the ropes from the start. Still, he's basically wide open, no walls. Like Chad, only terrifying."

Jeff quirks a smile at him, unlocking a door on the right side of the hall and ushering Jared inside to hiss spacious office. "He scare you Padalecki?"

"I didn't say I was terrified of him, I said he's terrifying. There's..." Jared scrubs his hand through his hair in frustration; it's unusual for him not to be able to articulate a feeling.

Jared flops down in one of Jeff's overstuffed chairs as he searches for the right sentiment to tack onto the emotions their latest recruit had been battering him with back there. Despite the severity of the rest of the facility, Jeff's private quarters are more relaxed; steel walls covered in pastel blues and greens, almost completely hidden by photographs of the older man's travels and art he's collected over the years. The furniture is all at least as old as Jared, some of it held together more by duct tape and hope than actual fabric, even though Jared knows at least a ballpark figure on their budget and there would be more than enough for Jeff to buy his own furniture factory if he wanted just with the team's pocket change.

Sometimes he wonders if Jeff keeps it that way because that how he wants it, or if it's one of those little backhanded things he does to make Jared comfortable without giving him a choice in the matter. Regardless, he can't deny that the place calms him down; a feeling of home there, moreso even than his own room.

Finally he sighs, burying his face in his palms."I don't know. I don't know if he's a psychopath or if it’s just all the shitty things that have happened to him or what, but there's this... darkness in him. It’s there in everything he feels, like an oil slick or something, laying right on top." Jared opens his mouth to say more then pauses, closing it again. He should know better than to think he can fake out Jeff after all this time.

"And?" his mentor prompts.

Jared has this urge to punch something - reeled in tight, as usual, but it's still there and it's obnoxious not to know whether it's some residual emotion from Jensen or his own frustration that he's fighting not to project. "It... God, Jeff, it hurts; he hurts. I mean, I feel physically ill just being in the same room with him."

Jeff 'mmm's which means nothing, or maybe everything; Jared's never really sure. He doesn't know if it's that Jeff's just really perfected the Zen master thing after all of these years or if he's actually developed some way of keeping Jared out - he insists he hasn't but Jared's not stupid enough to think that he knows everything that's going on around the facility - but he almost never feels Jeff on accident anymore. Sure, he could break in if he wanted to, force Jeff to show him what he's feeling, but the thought turns his stomach; nothing he'd ever do short of dire circumstances.

"You can't seriously expect me to lead him," Jared whines - yes whines, he's entitled on occasion, and this warrants it; he'd really thought he was going to blow chunks all over the interrogation room a couple of times back there.

Jeff flops down in the chair opposite Jared, ignoring the ergonomic, massage-capable, high-style monstrosity perched behind his broad desk - apparently the chair was a gift from the NSA'a director and now Jeff's stuck with it; Jared's pretty sure the older man is scared of it.

"That's true," he says, and Jared knows he's hedging even if he can't quite feel it - too many years of reading Jeff's voice, "I don't expect you to lead him." Jeff takes a slightly deeper breath than strictly necessary like he's bracing for something and Jared's stomach goes and gets cozy with his appendix even before he hears the words. "I want you to partner with him."

"What!" Ok, shouting is also warranted here, because honestly, Jeff had to have just heard what Jared said. There' no way he legitimately expects Jared to hang around with Jensen all of the time. "No, no way. Absolutely not." It's a whole other level of difficult to get to the calm place inside of his head while the rest of him is still seething with the ridiculousness of the whole scenario, but Jared has lots of practice and this definitely won't go easier if he starts accidentally forcing his annoyance on Jeff. "Send him to the New York team, I hear it's a hell of a town. The Bronx is up and the Battery's down."

Jeff just quirks an eyebrow at him. "Alright, I think maybe you and Sandy need to take a break from Movie Musical Mondays." Fine, Jared's subconscious maybe rambles a little bit when he's walling off his emotion-center, but in his defense, it's really distracting to meditate with one part of your brain and have a conversation with the other.

"And, no," Jeff runs right over whatever half-formed retort Jared might have made, "we cannot send him to the New York team; they've got their hands full already. Besides, given his history with adults, I think he's much more likely to function as an effective team member with people his own age, people he can trust. We are the best team for him."

"So, what, I'm just supposed to pretend that everything's fine and dandy?" Jared snarls, flinging himself into the steady, relaxing rhythm of pacing, "I mean even assuming that everybody won't immediately figure out something's up since I've never had a partner before and they're not idiots, but whatever - even assuming you can sneak that one by them, you really think they're just never going to pick up on the fact that I can't get within two feet of my own flippin' partner? We're not just talking about my comfort here. We agreed how... potentially volatile it could be if everybody figured out what I can do. You really want to risk years of this precog cover just so I can stick close to your new pet basket case?"

"He's not mentally unstable," Jeff calmly steeples his fingers, "he's damaged, and if there's anyone here who can help him cope with that, it's you, Jay."

"I'm not the team shrink," Jared rails back, feeling his walls slip and the anger shiver out of him like a little tendril of heat. He snaps it off immediately, slamming his eyes shut and forcing himself to take a deep, not-at-all-calming breath. "I don't want to be any closer to the inside of his head than I just got."

Jeff smiles softly, giving him the 'daddy-eyes' that mean he's not going to like whatever he's about to hear, but he's not going to be able to argue with it either. Sometimes he'd swear that Jeff has a power too.

"I don't blame you there," his mentor agrees, "But, Jay... somebody who comes from what Jensen does doesn't just get by on luck, not even with a gift - power - like his. He's a survivor, a planner, and he's a hell of a lot smarter than anybody has ever bothered to give him credit for. I can't predict what he's capable of doing," Jared doubts that, they don't call Jeff ‘Chessmaster’ for nothing, "what he might pull or if he might snap, but you can feel it. If he gets to be a danger, you'll know, Jay, and we need that, for his safety and our own."

Rubber-synthetic squeals against leather as Jared slings his long legs over one arm of the chair, taking a seat again when standing suddenly seems like too much effort.

Jeff being Jeff, doesn't relent. "If he doesn't stay here, then it's prison, and what do you think will happen to that darkness of his there? You've seen the file, Jay; do you really want to be one more person who made him worse?"

Damnit. There's nothing in the whole wide world he hates more than guilt; the way it echoes around inside of him, coating everything in a cold, sticky film that never seems to wear away. And Jeff, the jerk, knows it too.

Still doesn't mean it's not the truth.

Jared knows he's going to regret it even as he forces his tongue to form the word, "Ok." He also knows there was never really another choice to begin with.

***

Jensen's definitely not digging on the basic grey t-shirt and sweats they delivered to his room - his room, so empty it echoes, with nothing but the bed, a couch and a dresser to occupy the large space; but still, his - but they'll do for now. They had promised that his things would be brought to him as soon as they had properly cleared security, not that there was much to bring in the first place; Jensen's always been a travel light kind of guy - never carry something you wouldn't mind losing.

They'd asked him very politely to remain in his room last night and he didn't need the guard posted at his door to know a 'stay the fuck where we put you' when he hears one. Usually that alone would be enough to have him finding a way to sneak out, but he figures he dodged a freight train-sized bullet with this whole thing, so it's probably worth playing the good boy for a little while, just to make sure none of that paperwork gets lost in the shuffle or anything. Besides, once he discovered that all he had to do was press his thumbprint to the little pad on his couch arm - yes, his couch arm, Jensen has his very own couch arm - for a big fucking panel in the wall to slide back and reveal what's gotta be at least a 60" TV... well, he wasn't exactly complaining about the accommodations.

Getting woken up at 8 in the fucking morning sucks some pretty big ones though, so this shit better be good to make up for being drug halfway across the damn Earth to get here, without so much as a cup of coffee to get him going. Place is a goddamn labyrinth.

The smell of precious caffeine wafts from somewhere up ahead, and thankfully Mr. Silent And Painfully Uninteresting Security Guard takes him right to the source. Maybe in a minute, Jensen will care about all of the strangers who look up as the pressure-lock door shuffs closed behind him, but at the moment he's trying to decide if there's a way for him to mainline the life-sustaining nectar in that coffee pot on the counter.

Somebody clears their throat and Jensen is forced to look away from the holy chalice of wakefulness to glance back over at the group haphazardly gathered around the oblong wooden table in the center of the room. It seems it was Jeff who cleared his throat - oh, look, it's Jeff. Fuck you, Jeff, you early-rising prick! - since he's the one who stands up and takes charge.

At least he has the decency to let Jensen finish pouring himself up a cup of coffee before he gets into the parts Jensen has to think for.

The man smirks at him as Jensen takes a seat and says, "I would have figured with your body chemistry you'd be quite the morning person."

Jensen just shrugs, lacking the base-level energy required for snark. True, he has an incredible recovery time on the physical stuff, but apparently nobody ever told his brain that and it never really feels like kicking into gear again without some heavy-duty stimulant incentive. On the plus side? Crazy-fast metabolism = instant caffeine rush as soon as the java hits his stomach.

"We'll try to keep that in mind for future meetings then." Jeff nods firmly like he's making a mental note and then turns to the rest of the group, opening his mouth to say something that gets cut off by the short blond guy on the other side of the table.

"Wait, we're gonna rearrange the meetings for the new guy? I asked for afternoon meetings like a year ago, man!" The blond squints at Jensen and looks downright indignant.

The girl next to him - even shorter, with long, espresso-colored hair and a pretty fantastic rack, if you go for that kind of thing - jumps in with, "Aw, it's cute how you think we listen to the things you say."

The guy flips her the bird, to which the girl sticks out her tongue. Jensen needs so much more coffee for this.

"Seriously, though," the big-mouthed blond runs right over whatever anyone else might have to say on the matter, leveling a finger at Jeff, "you have to promise the next recruit will be a chick, we need some more skirts around here, dude."

Further along on the table a darker haired guy folding origami shapes out of notebook paper says, "I always thought the Padapuppy had the legs for a mini," without ever taking his eyes off of the precise movements of his fingers. Jesus, what the ever loving fuck is going on?

The blond grimaces, "Ugh! Misha, man, keep your creepy Jared fantasies to yourself."

The guy down the table - Misha, apparently - idly flicks the spiky little ball of perfectly folded paper at the blond jackass who...

Who disappears into thin fucking air just as the paper ball bursts with a tiny, firecracker-snap. The blond reappears just as fast standing behind the chair he just vacated and brushes away the curls of ash on the tabletop that used to be origami.

Jensen stares at his coffee cup accusingly. What the fuck are they putting in this shit?

"Ahem," Jeff says pointedly without any of the actual throat clearing this time. Both of the guys look vaguely chastised, but it only lasts a second. The older man knuckles the bridge of his nose for a moment before glancing apologetically at Jensen - he wonders if Jeff's apologizing for lacing the coffee with high-dose hallucinogens.

"Everyone, I'm sure you all remember Jensen," he leads and for the first time it occurs to Jensen that this is the crack team he's signed on for - and conversely, the crack team who whipped his ass. He suddenly feels really bad about himself. "For those of you who missed the memo," here he glares at the blond guy again, "Jensen is a self-healer, among what I'm sure are many other talents. He's going to be a permanent member of the team from now on, so try not to irreparable scar him too quickly."

There's a low murmur of a laugh around the table and the black-haired guy between the blond and Misha elbows them both surreptitiously. They each rub at the affected spots with near-identical glares.

"Jensen," Jeff continues, now turning to face Jensen, "this is the team. Sandy McCoy," he nods to the girl, who smiles in turn and gives Jensen a little wave, "cyberkinetic and our resident technological genius. Chad Murray," the blond grunts and crosses his arms across his chest like Jensen couldn't crush him to a smeared, weeping pulp if he wanted to, "whom, as you may have noticed, is a teleporter. He's under very strict rules about entering other people's rooms without permission, though, so if you have any problems, just let me know." Now Chad's pouting again.

"Tom Welling. His particular gift," at the other end of the table Jared makes an indecipherable sound, "power, excuse me, we think may be related to your own, although with different effect. Tom's got advanced musculature, much stronger than an ordinary person." The black-haired guy grins a little sheepishly and welcome to the top of Jensen's 'let's tap that ass' list.

"Misha Collins," Jeff carries on as if Jensen's not still busy having obscene thoughts about Tom, "We’re having trouble agreeing on a name for his ability, but essentially he has the power to rearrange the atomic structure of an object to create an internal combustion reaction." The guy looks up from the paper frog he's making and winks at Jensen.

"I make stuff go boom," he explains eloquently before turning his attention back to his folding.

"And you've met Jared Padalecki, our precog," Jeff finishes blithely, retaking his seat.

Oh... Padapuppy. He gets it now. And while he may not exactly see the puppy thing, yeah, total agreement with Misha on that skirt point; that boy would look damn good in a miniskirt. Mmmm, fine mental images.

Jared squirms slightly in his seat, looking more uncomfortable suddenly in his oversized jeans and sweatshirt - and biker gloves? - than he had in that S&M number he'd been wearing last night. Weird dude.

Jeff shuffles some papers in Jensen's direction and everyone subtly sits up a little straighter. Down to business, then. Alright, Jensen can roll with that. For now.

***

Jared's always had a problem with touch - not that he despises human contact, it's just that, for whatever reason, skin-to-skin has this way of amplifying his ability that can be utterly overwhelming. When he was a baby, doctors diagnosed him with a nerve disorder because of the way he wailed whenever someone, even his parents, touched his skin. They were wrong, of course, about the reason for his sensitivity, but he probably owes them his sanity since his mother made sure to keep him well covered and practically untouchable after that.

He's gotten better as he's aged and learned to control his power to a degree, and he can handle normal levels of contact. Still, he likes a certain degree of coverage and for years now he's made a pair of fingerless gloves part of his everyday gear. He's got at least a dozen pairs - stretch ones, leather, the same rubber-synth as his field uniform. Most are black, but he's got a pair with electric green piping for special occasions and some red ones that were a Christmas gift from Sandy. He wears the gloves kind of obsessively; enough so that when he takes them off to shower or sleep, there's a visibly paler outline of them on his hands even though he doesn't spend much time in the sun.

Jared's not wearing them today. Instead, his favorite black, leather pair - worn-in just loose enough around the knuckles - are tucked safely in his front pocket, replaced with a full-finger pair that stops two inches above the wrist. They overlap the long-sleeved, black bodysuit he's wearing underneath his clothes, ensurinng that the only bits of skin he's got exposed are a small sliver of neck and his face. It's helping a lot less than he'd hoped it would, but at least he hasn't hurled yet.

Jensen's fist jolts through the air, aiming for Jared's solar plexus, but easy enough to dance out of the way of with minimal effort. The older boy grunts with the waves of annoyance Jared can feel pouring off of him and sets his jaw.

They'd both protested fervently when Jeff had insisted that Jared run Jensen through melee training - Jensen because he'd been a pretty successful cage fighter once and could take care of himself, Jared because he'd been on an aspirin regimen ever since Jensen moved in just to dull the throb of constant pain lapping at the back of his mind and actually touching Jensen seemed like the least appealing idea in history. Grudgingly, though, Jared has to admit Jeff was right. Jensen has some skill, no denying that; there's power behind his hits and purpose in his swing. There's no technique there though, all predator looking for the kill, zero strategy. He wastes his energy, even if he does have more of it to run on, and his responses are so predictable that Jared could probably take him out with his eyes closed by now.

Jared dodges a kick that probably would have gone wide anyway - Jensen really has no idea what to do with his lower body in a fight - and effortlessly knocks Jensen's knees out from under him. The spike of shock that hangs before Jensen actually hits the ground melts fast into hate-laced rage. Not that Jared doesn't sympathize, but having Jensen's dislike pumping through him isn't doing anything to help him cope with his own.

There's something else hovering just under the distaste though; below the injured pride and the darkness that is purely Jensen. Something complicated. It's possible that the slightly ominous feeling swimming around in Jared's gut is just because of how complex that sentiment is - they've only really known one another a week, but it's been more than enough time for Jared to discover that, while Jensen may wear his emotions like a neon sign, they are also multilayered and difficult to pinpoint. It's disconcerting, really, when he's so used to having to block people out because he reads them too well. To have the tables turned on him like that, never quite sure what Jensen's thinking, it's... alright, it's a little galling, and it's certainly not improving his attitude toward the older boy.

Add that to the constant low-grade nausea and Jensen's apparent inability to go half an hour without some moderately pornographic mental interlude - how the man manages not to walk around hard all day every day with the way he feels most of the time is beyond Jared - and Jensen has very rapidly become Jared least favorite person in the whole facility - including the crazy night janitor in the east wing who pelts cleaning supplies at passersby.

Actually, except for the way that sick churning inside of Jared spikes every time they make contact, he's really kind of enjoying the excuse to knock Jensen on his ass repeatedly. Cathartic.

"I miss the joke, Padapuppy?" Jensen asks, hoisting himself up off the ground for the fourth time in the last fifteen minutes. Jared's really going to have to have a talk with the boys about the nickname thing. It's one thing for them to walk around calling Jared stupid crap, it's another for them to tell Jensen all about it; that man doesn't need ammunition.

Jared keeps his smile from faltering more than an increment and replies, "Not at all," easily. Kill them with kindness and all that. Besides, he's the leader, there's still an example to be set regardless of his personal feelings for the oversexed sociopathic freak.

“Guess it helps in a fight if you can see the future, huh?” Jensen digs, not giving in of course. He feints to the left and hits right, a move that might have been quick enough to actually touch Jared this time, if he hadn’t seen Jensen repeat it a dozen times by now.

“Also helps if you’re a better fighter than your opponent,” Jared jabs back, literally and figuratively, his punch landing dead center on Jensen’s chest.

That’s the worst part, right there, of pretending to have precognition – he never gets to take credit. Jared’s a damn good fighter – he’s spent nearly twelve years training, so he’d better be – and quite a strategist, but every time he manages to anticipate a move at just the right time, or make the right call even though it wasn’t the obvious one, it’s his pretend power that gets the kudos for it. True, most people aren’t dicks enough to actually say that out loud – thanks again, Jeff; awesome new recruit - but Jared knows that they think it, can feel it in them, and it never fails to burn him up.

Jensen charges him unexpectedly, not thinking, just going in for the quick kill, riding high on the rage coursing through him like fire. Jared steps out of the way with just centimeters to spare, snapping his arm out to lock around Jensen’s wrist. The sensations that flood him at the touch, even muted through two layers of cloth, are like a shotgun recoil shooting up his arm. Jared ignores it to twist Jensen’s arm up behind his back, keeps on pulling until he can feel his own muscles strain in sympathy.

Jensen stops, but it’ll only be for a second – just long enough for his conscious mind to remind his lizard brain that it’s ok if Jared knocks the joint out of place as they struggle, it will just heal right back. But that small falter is enough – enough to get Jensen killed in combat; assuming of course that Jensen can be killed, he reminds himself to ask Jeff about that – and he releases the grip just as fast, hoping that his sigh of relief at losing the contact isn’t too audible.

Still, with Jensen sprawling face-first onto the ground, unable to get his balance in time, the sickness roiling in Jared’s gut like a living thing is so completely and utterly worth it.


	2. Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Except for the fact that they were both born with remarkable superhuman abilities, and a seething mutual dislike, Jared and Jensen have nothing in common. Turns out, though, that they may also be the only ones who can save each other from themselves.

Jared’s body flies through the air like a black superball, except he doesn’t bounce when he hits the far wall, brick dust raining down around him as he crashes to the ground. Jensen can’t help but be vaguely amused. Didn’t see that one coming, did you, Padapuppy?

The enjoyment is somewhat short-lived considering that Jensen is busy making sure he doesn’t share the same fate. He gets their quarry in his sights – damn, they couldn’t do this anywhere better lit? – as Chad distracts her by porting in and out all over the room. If Chad could learn to fucking shoot worth a shit, he might actually be able to do something with that power of his beyond being the team’s glorified moving van.

The woman rages – seriously, the bitch is crazy – and flings her arm in Chad’s general direction, sending one of the metal beams she’s already knocked loose from the ceiling at the teleporter. He phases out in the nick of time and it gives Jensen just the shot he needs to tag their ‘objective’ with a tranq.

Red feathers blossom at the bend of her neck and she tears at the imbedded dart immediately – still too late. Her hands toss wildly and it seems like the walls themselves shake – ok, Jensen will take back that glorified moving van thing if Chad will come back now to get them the fuck out of here! – which keeps Jensen preoccupied as she dashes out the door.

Tom’s hot on her tail – God, what a hot tail Tom has, especially in his uniform; goddamn Greek tragedy that the guy’s straight – yelling over his shoulder at Jensen to “Get Jared!”

Yeah, yeah. Get Jared. This partner thing sucks gigantic balls; like he’s the one responsible for Jared doing a Superman impression into that wall.

He trots over toward the huddled pile of rubber and sexy that is Jared – what? The kid’s a tool, doesn’t stop him from being smoking hot; Jensen is totally up for some dirty hate-sex – with a little less urgency.

From the intel – ‘intel’; Jensen’s so fucking cool – Sandy had dug up, it didn’t look like the bitch they were bringing in had any other powers beyond ‘move shit by flailing at it’ so one tranq ought to bring her down pretty fast. Jensen’s tranq; his very first mission and he’s the one taking down the bad guy - because Jensen’s an awesome superhero and totally better than the other schmucks on the team. Wait a month and he’ll be running this operation; then Jared can be the one hopping-to while Jensen barks the orders. Maybe he’ll make the kid spit shine his boots. With his tongue. Yeah, hot.

Ok, serious; Jensen is a serious superhero who only fantasizes about his teammates in the off hours. And during meetings, but meetings suck, so it’s totally excusable. Anyway…

Jared’s still pretty well out of it. There’s a nasty gash on the back of his head that’s slowly oozing blood, but his eyelids flutter open a little and there’s a hint of recognition when Jensen kneels down next to him, so that’s a good thing, right? Maybe they should have given him some medical training too; not like Jensen knows what to do with regular-people injuries. Well, at least not beyond using his secret weapon, but… nevermind, no point in wasting that little surprise when Chad can just teleport them back the facility. Assuming Chad ever shows the fuck up!

Alright, he’s pretty sure that there’s something about not moving people with head injuries – is that head injuries? Damn, he needs to watch more doctor shows – but then again, the walls are still kind of groaning ominously and moving Jared with a head injury has still got to be better than letting a building fall on him.

Jared moans and makes some kind of twitch that might be an escape attempt when Jensen loops an arm around his back and starts to hoist the larger boy to an upright position. He gets as far as pulling Jared in to his chest, the thin stubble on his jaw rasping against the smooth skin of Jared’s cheek as the kid slumps forward and –

Jensen’s four and the last thing he had to eat was the coffee grounds from the cupboard by the sink. They tasted gross and made his stomach do flip flops all night, but he’d eat more if he had them. Mom just waves him off every time Jensen tries to tell her that there’s no food and the last time he tried to pull her up from where she’s been laying on the couch for days she scratched his face.

Jensen’s six and his ribs sound like popcorn when they snap, hurt worse as they start trying to move back to where they’re supposed to be. Dad keeps saying that there’re snakes in Jensen’s belly and he has to stomp them out and he won’t listen when Jensen tries to tell him it’s not true. It doesn’t matter anyway now because he can’t get in enough breath to cry let alone say anything.

Jensen’s small and he never owned the white tennis shoes he’s staring down at with the happy, neon green laces. The skinny little hands hanging limply at his sides weren’t ever his either, the same way that the kids flopped all over the colored floor mats and short, round-edged furniture aren’t his kindergarten classmates. Because Jensen never went to kindergarten. But he still knows this is his class; the same way he knows that the reason that they’re laid out in awkward angles and funny positions is because they all fell over where they were standing a minute ago. The same way that he knows that his name is Jared and he’s five and everything’s so much better now that he made them all go to sleep.

Jensen’s eight and the only thing that changes in foster care is the faces. He braces his back against one of the support beams under the house and takes a thick-tasting drag off of the cigarette butt he’d found around the side of the house. He flicks the lighter from his last foster parents place on and off, on and off, watching the flame burst to life and sputter out again just as fast. He blows a puff of smoke at the spark until it flickers and dies, the flame licking for a moment at the pad of his finger. He spends a lot of time that afternoon watching it burn and heal again.

Jensen’s eleven and the thin legs poking out from his too-big shorts are sticking to the leather back seat of the car. The man who owns it is pressed up close to him, breathing hard in Jensen’s ear as he takes Jensen’s hand and rubs it up and down over his dick. There’s a lot more money in the man’s wallet than the fifty bucks he already gave Jensen and if he waits just another couple of minutes until his hand is covered in sticky white goo, the man will be too confused to know what’s happening when Jensen reaches into his pocket and grabs that wallet. He just has to wait.

He’s all gangly, too-long limbs and his chest hurts like his lungs are full of hot nails. The sticky mess on his skin is cold in the air conditioning, but all of that incredible feeling he’d had just a minute ago when it spurted out of himself onto his chest is gone, replaced by mind-numbing pain. He should have put on more clothes; then maybe he could touch the night guard lying on the shiny linoleum, clutching at his heart. He wouldn’t know what to do even if he could tough though, and he must be screaming because people are coming. He can feel them coming, running, and then they’re here; panic when they look at the guard, fear when they look at him. Because he’s a freak, because he did this and it doesn’t matter if he didn’t mean to, he still did it. He didn’t know that anyone was close enough to feel it if he pushed, didn’t think that just touching himself a little would hurt anything – wasn’t supposed to hurt anything - and now it’s all his fault. He’s Jared, he’s twelve, and he wishes he was dead.

Jensen’s fourteen and his knuckles crunch and squeal like chewed ice as the bone shards move around every time his arm swings. He’s won and he knows it, but he can’t seem to make himself stop pummeling the boy trapped underneath him, can’t seem to remember why he was doing it in the first place. Blood drops spatter warm against his cheek and he here’s the correction’s officers whistles, know they’re coming. Still can’t stop.

Jensen’s sixteen and the empty bottle of lighter-fluid-grade vodka slips from his fingers to the floor. It doesn’t break in the short distance from where his hand hangs between his knees as he sits on the squeaky motel bed. He has a millisecond between the time his finger squeezes the trigger and the bullet shattering the side of his skull to wonder if this time it will finally work.

Jensen’s eighteen and he’s –

He’s jerked back to a room where the ceiling is slowly crumbling in on them by Misha’s hand tugging him away from Jared’s spasming body. Jensen sucks in a breath like it’s his first out of the womb and God help him but he’s crying like it too, hot tears streaking unbidden down his face.

Misha stares from where he’s kneeling over Jared, his hand planted in the middle of the bigger boy’s chest to keep him pinned to the ground against the convulsions wracking that long body. He furrows his brow at Jensen, look caught somewhere between blame and concern.

“What happened?” Misha asks urgently, though the shocks rocking Jared’s body are slowing. And isn’t that just the fucking million dollar question – what the hell happened?

Before Jensen can work out anything approaching a coherent answer, Chad’s phasing in on a stream of “What the fuck are you bitches doing, having a tea par-“ The blond cuts off, eyes darting from Jensen to Misha to Jared and back again before he mutters “Shit,” and lunges forward to wrap a hand around Jared’s rubber-gauntleted arm and disappears all over again, Jared in tow.

Jensen barely has enough functioning braincells to go with it when Misha grabs him by the scruff of his neck and jostles them both out of the rapidly deteriorating doorway into the clear night air.

***

Jared stutters back into consciousness like a car backfiring, eyes flying open long seconds before he can get his body to do anything else, a single word resonating in his mind; Jensen.

“He’s fine,” Jeff assures from his perch on the end of the sick-bay bed Jared’s been placed in. It’s only then that he realizes that he’s said the older boy’s name out loud.

Relief floods Jared like cool water because he may not like Jensen, but that doesn’t mean he deserve to have his mind torn to shreds either and…

And what the heck was that?

“What happened?” Jared croaks out, his voice a raspy, bone-dry sound.

Jeff scrubs a hand over his face, kneading at his brow bone with his knuckles before he answers. “I was hoping you could tell me.”

It’s dark outside the massive window next to Jared’s bed, a lighter blue edging over the roofs of the building across from the medical wing. Either dawn or twilight; it’s unsettling to realize that he doesn’t even know what day it is. Jeff doesn’t look too badly off though, slightly ruffled like he’s been running his fingers through his hair a lot but the plain, black t-shirt and sweats he’s wearing don’t seem any worse for wear. A day or less, then, since it happened. That’s good

Jared searches his mind for a coherent explanation for the candle-in-the-wind flickers of images still painting the backs of his eyelids and draws a blank instead. “I… it… I have no idea.”

Jeff sighs, tilting his head back to talk to the mottled ceiling tiles. “Misha says that he found you and Jensen huddled together, immovable, and that Jensen wouldn’t respond until after Misha forcibly pulled him off of you. Jensen says he doesn’t remember a thing.”

“He’s lying,” Jared says, and it’s not a question. He has no real reason to believe that Jensen was privy to every scene from their intermixed lives that flashed before his own eyes, but he feels like Jensen saw it, and if Jared’s learned one thing from his curse of a power, it’s to trust his feelings.

That gets a nod from Jeff and nothing else. It probably shouldn’t have taken this long, but whatever drugs they’re pumping Jared’s system with must be damn good – it’s only now that he realizes how much his head hurts. A hiss ekes out from between his clenched teeth as his fingers unerringly find the swollen lump of bandage on the back of his head.

The image of Jensen leaning over him is still fuzzy in his mind – he’s pretty sure he tried to say something, to tell Jensen to leave him alone because Jared’s dangerous enough when he’s in full control, but Jensen either hadn’t heard or hadn’t listened. He can still feel that single instant when it was nothing more than warm skin on his own, and then… Crap.

“I was in his head,” Jared answers the question that Jeff’s been dancing around asking, “Actually inside it, living his memories. And I think he may have been inside of mine.”

“Are you sure?” Jeff asks blithely, as though Jared hasn’t just announced that he was in Jensen’s freaking head!

“No, I’m pretty far from sure, actually!” he snaps back in exasperation, skull throbbing at the volume. “I don’t even really know what happened to me, let alone him.”

“But you think he’s lying.”

“Yeah, I… yeah, he is.”

Jeff blinks at him, calculating, dark eyes razor-sharp, “Meaning?”

There’s a too long minute where all Jared can hear is the disconcerting meld of the blood pounding in his ears in time with the increasing tempo of the heart monitor. When he speaks, it’s a barely croaked-out whisper around the tight knot of panic rising in his throat.

“I think… Jesus, Jeff. I can still feel him.”

***

It’s motherfucking hot. A good argument for Jensen to stay inside, but he can’t seem to manage it. He’s allowed to move around the facility wherever he wants now and somehow with the sun shining outside and the breath-hot breeze blowing the dust around, sitting in his dark, empty little room feels a lot more like prison than he cares to think about. Prison with a giant TV, wireless internet and food brought to his room on request, but still.

He’s doing his level best not to think about Jared or whatever it was that happened. It’s kind of working for shit because the fact that he seemingly got all up inside of Jared’s head seems to be the only thing he can concentrate on.

That’s really the only explanation for it; God knows he’s looked for others, but he keeps coming up dry. So then, he was in Jared’s head, his memories playing out in front of Jensen right along with his own, and that – well, he doesn’t really have a clue what that means. But he had a feeling Jared did.

Ever since it happened, Jared’s been avoiding him; not that surprising, considering they weren’t exactly bestest buds to begin with and Jensen would just assume not take another soul-shattering trip down memory lane, thankyouverymuch. What’s suspicious is that Jeff has dropped it completely too, like nothing at all happened, even though he was pretty seriously freaked when he first found out.

The older man obviously hadn’t believed Jensen’s story about not remembering anything at the time – that was a whole other can of worms he didn’t feel like opening, especially if there was even the slightest chance that Jeff would want to test it out and see if they could do their little brain-share whateverthefuck again – but once he’d talked to Jared, Jeff had let the whole issue go. Maybe Jared had backed Jensen’s story, but the idea of soldier-boy lying to the man in charge didn’t really sit right with Jensen, which left option two; Jeff and Jared knew exactly what happened and wanted to pretend that it hadn’t.

He grazes his big, black combat boots through the red dirt, raising little ridges with his toes. He really likes the boots – there might be rules against wearing part of his field uniform around every day, but nobody’s said anything yet, and hey, they look damn good on him.

His footwear admiration is broken up by the sudden appearance of Misha; damn that guy is quiet – if he didn’t know better, Jensen would swear that Misha was the teleporter instead of Chad. Misha knocks back the can of Coke in his hand, slurping loudly around the last draw of liquid as he falls into step with Jensen. They’re walking the perimeter of the facility, nothing in sight but miles and miles of flat scrub brush.

“So, I’m supposed to take over with your training until Jared’s up to snuff again,” Misha explains, shaking the can between his fingers for the ticky slosh of the few remaining drops inside. Jensen’s heart falls a little; he’s really sick of training… and hearing about Jared. “Don’t really feel like it now, though,” the other boy continues, “You wanna throw rocks at this can instead?”

The smile on his face is so genuinely enthusiastic that Jensen can’t help but laugh.

“Sure, Tom Sawyer,” he replies, mock-chipper, “Ya need to go grab a couple stereotypical Southern characters before we start?”

Misha glares at him, “Oh, sorry, I’ll leave you to your adventures in boot scuffing. Let me know how that works out.”

“Shut up.”

“You shut up.”

Misha tosses the can out a distance into the dark dust, scraping a handful of pebbles up off of the ground as he goes. Jensen leans back against the side of the building in mimic of Misha’s position, absorbing the few available inches of shade as sweat trickles slowly down the nape of his neck. The pebble Misha tosses at the can explodes on impact; a burst of ruddy powder a couple of inches to the left of the mark.

He makes the kind of squinty face that Jensen’s come to associate with the other man using his power and holds out a rock in the palm of his hand to Jensen. Jensen stares down at it warily, fingers inching toward it before Misha jerks it away with a sigh, tossing it off to the side where it pops with a little curl of smoke in mid-air.

“There’s a time limit on these things, you know?” Misha chides, squinting at another pebble until he deems it sufficiently charged. “Think of it like a grenade once the pin is pulled.”

“Oh that’s fucking comforting,” Jensen retorts, snatching the stone quickly and tossing it at the can. It goes a little long, but otherwise a good shot.

“Not like you wouldn’t just heal from it anyway,” is Misha’s argument, his own throw finally hitting the target, which hops into the air before skittering to rest a few feet to the right of its original spot.

True, Jensen would probably be fine after an hour or two even if one of the fucking things went off in his hand, but he’s never had part of himself blown up before and it’s not an experience he’s itching for. His next toss lands just a little shy, but close enough that it makes the can jump back a couple of inches.

“So Jared,” Misha prods, blinking innocently over at Jensen. He tosses another stone right on the money.

“Congratulations on that seamless segue,” Jensen snarks back. He’s seriously had enough of Jared fucking Padalecki in the last couple of days. That odd pressure that seems to crop up that the back of Jensen’s mind every time he thinks about the kid is back again, damnit.

“Thanks,” Misha grins, “I keep telling them that I need to be a double-O agent or something. Shame to waste all of this natural subtlety.”

A reasonably comfortable silence settles then, and Jensen entertains the vain hope that he’s managed to dodge the interrogation.

“As I was saying,” Misha shoots that idea all to hell, “Jared.”

“What about him?” Jensen does his best not to growl, tossing his own pebble at the can a little harder than strictly necessary.

“Well, you may have noticed that he’s kind of the king of the freaks around here.”

“Duly noted.”

“It’s just,” Misha pauses, brow furrowed in thought, “you’re the first person I’ve ever met who doesn’t get along with him.”

“He barely talks to anyone but Sandy!” Jensen retorts incredulously; because honestly, Jared’s kind of an antisocial bastard from what he’s seen in the last few weeks.

Misha waves the idea off casually, “Yeah, but that’s just Jared. He’s, like, private, you know? But he’s always there when you need him; just shows up without you even having to ask. I guess it’s the procog thing or whatever, but he’s always the guy who turns up at your door when it seems like everything’s falling apart. It’s earned him a lot of points around here over the years.”

“Speaking of points…”

“I’m just saying,” Misha sighs, chucking another rock, which gives a significantly louder bang than the previous ones when it hits the soda can, “I’ve never seen anyone actively dislike Jared, and I’ve really never seen him actively dislike anyone else. It’s freaky, man. And then whatever that was the other day…”

“I seriously don’t remember,” Jensen lies automatically. Yeah, like he could forget an inter-brain slideshows of the worst shit that’s ever happened to him – plus a few new ones, ostensibly from Jared himself – flashing before his eyes like he was reliving them all over again.

Misha holds up his free hand in a surrender. “Ok, cool, whatever. I’m just saying, there’s obviously something weird going on with you and the Jay-man, and it’s got all of our curiosities peaked.” Hmm, so Jensen’s not the only one who doesn’t know what the fuck happened? Isn’t that interesting.

“What do you mean, going on?”

Misha shrugs, “Well, Tom and Chad seem to think you’re going to try and kill each other, but they’re idiots, so they’re vote doesn’t count. My bet is on Unresolved Sexual Tension. The again that might just be my elaborate fantasy life talking.”

Ok, that one definitely deserves a double-take. “Jared’s gay?” Not that Jensen hasn’t thought about it, maybe hoped about it, but it’s not like he really cares…

“Who the hell knows, man,” the other man grumbles, half-heartedly tossing the last group of pebbles in his hand, setting off a spectacle of miniature dirt explosions to pepper the ground, “I’ve always kinda thought he was playing for our team, but as far as I know, he’s never gotten it on with anybody around here.”

“So he and Sandy aren’t…” Fine, ok, Jensen cares. Just a little.

“If they are, she hides it really damn well,” is Misha’s answer, which isn’t particularly satisfying, but still better than nothing. He fixes Jensen with a hard gaze, face suddenly serious. “For the record, you’d totally hit that, though, right?”

“I’m not blind,” Jensen scoffs in return.

“Thank God!” Misha break into a grin, pillowing his head against the wall with one hand, “We need somebody around here besides me and Sandy to appreciate the wonder that is Jared in uniform.”

Mmm, Jared in uniform. Tight black rubber, clinging in all the right places – which just happen to be all of the places. “Damn that’s a fine ass.”

“Hell yes,” Misha agrees wistfully.

“Well, I don’ think it’s like that with me and him,” Jensen has to grudgingly admit – he sure as hell hasn’t been getting any of the signals from Jared, even if he’d like to, “but if that changes, you’ll be the first to know.”

“Hey, I’ll do whatever I can to help you out – Jared is in desperate need of a good lay.” Misha gives him a friendly pat on the shoulder, which is just… weird. Ok, Jensen’s had about enough of this team bonding thing for one day.

He chuckles slightly, turning to walk off. It suddenly seems like he has a lot more to think about. “I’ll do my best.”

“Remember,” Misha yells after him into the afternoon haze, “nothing says thank you like a hot threesome!”


	3. Chapter 3

Jared bites back a yelp as the soft gauze of the bandages are peeled away from his head, catching on whatever polymer they’ve used to close up the wound.

“Titty baby,” Sandy teases, short legs kicking against the side of the examination table as she swings them back and forth.

Jared grumbles something unflattering at her and tunes back in to what the doctor’s telling him.

“- shouldn’t be a problem. No strenuous activity for a week, and yes, I’ve told Director Morgan that too, so no tricky stuff. Don’t touch the affected area and try to keep it from getting wet.”

Jared groans in disappointment at the whole situation, “Does that mean I can’t wash my hair?” It’s been three days and he’s really not rocking the homeless-chic look; he feels too gross to touch.

Dr. Ferris lets out a put upon sigh and points her eyes toward the ceiling. “Just be careful about it; as little moisture as possible, got me?”

Jared nods his head vigorously – at least the throbbing has passed – and gives her boy scout salute which in turn, gets a school-girl giggle out of the severe woman.

On the way out of the hospital wing, Sandy’s fingers twine with Jared’s, hands swaying to and fro lightly as they walk through the harsh noon sun.

“How are you feeling?” she asks compulsively. It’s the fifth time she’s asked today.

Jared reaches over with his free hand and musses her dark hair. “Sandy, I’m fine. I’m going to continue to be fine, and on the off chance that I stop being fine, I promise to inform you immediately.”

She snorts at him, lips drawn together in a disbelieving pout, but ultimately lets it go. There’s no question in his mind about this not being the end of the conversation; there’s a niggling worry shimmering off of Sandy like heat on the horizon, laid over with a hint of anticipation. Jared has a feeling he knows exactly what that’s about.

“If you’re going to ask, just ask,” he mutters, thumbing the electronic print pad by the East wing doors. They gasp open, beckoning Jared inside with the rush of cool, temperature-controlled air.

Sandy plays dumb, following along beside him, “Ask what?”

She holds up under Jared’s glare slightly longer than he would have given her credit for, but not much.

“Can you blame me for being curious?” she all but squeaks, a sure sign that she’s even more wound up than she was letting on – not that Jared hadn’t felt that from the moment she showed up at his door this morning. “Jensen won’t talk about it, Jeff won’t talk about, you aren’t talking about it! All we know is that Misha saw you two all… frozen or something and then you went catatonic for six hours while Jeff had Jensen interrogated. Sharing is caring, Jared!”

“There’s nothing to share,” Jared evades, motioning for Sandy to lead the way as the doors to the control room power open.

“Uh huh, sure,” she agrees, dripping with sarcasm.

The control room, aka: Sandy’s inner sanctum, is a jarring clash of color that even after all of this time, still makes Jared’s eyes twinge on first sight. Who knows how many hours Sandy’s spent tracking down all of the different colors and patterns of artisan paper that cover the enormous room’s walls; pinks, greens, golds, aquas, everything from neon to metallic to slick, textured prints right down the line. It’s like stepping inside of a rainbow, or possibly an LSD trip, but Jared’s really only guessing about the latter. The color helps make up for the fact that the only light in the room comes from the plethora of illuminated computer screens, winking through the channels Sandy’s set up like electronic insect eyes.

For a long time it seemed incongruous to Jared; sweet, bubbly Sandy stuck in this dim room by herself when it seemed like she ought to be out hopping around in a cheerleading uniform or playing tennis or… other things that happy people do; Jared can’t really think of any at the moment. Leastways, it always seemed like Sandy should be out enjoying the world, living a normal life, instead of being trapped in here with nothing but the internet for company.

Sandy’s happy in here, though, at least most of the time; enjoying the fact that she can use her power to help people – she’d originally been pulled onto the team when the FBI started tracking the ‘computer glitch’ that cause millions of dollars to be transferred from wealthy hedge-funders and oil barons to orphanages around the country – and the freedom to do essentially whatever she wants within a few basic parameters. And Jared knows enough about the things she gets up to in this room of hers to know he doesn’t want to be any better informed – team leader or not, there are things about his teammates and their ‘slash’ obsessions that he doesn’t need to be apprised of.

Sandy flops down in her computer chair – hot pink pleather and so big that she could probably sleep in it if she wanted to; a birthday gift from him and Chad – and gives him a searching look; curiosity quickly bleeding into full-on concern.

“He didn’t…” she starts, fear and reluctance swallowing her words for a moment, “I mean, he wouldn’t… he didn’t hurt you, did he?”

Technically, of course, the answer is yes, because Jared can’t remember if he’s ever had a dose of pain as accute as the waves of it undulating through Jensen’s memories, but that’s not what she means and there’s no way to explain it without giving away over a decade of carefully crafted lies.

“No,” Jared makes himself smile as he says it, trying to subtly project how ridiculous he’s supposed to think the idea of Jensen harming him is. As much as he hates lying, his power does make it infinitely easier to get others to believe him, and he can see as well as feel the moment when Sandy relaxes.

“Good,” she smiles back, fingers absently playing with the keyboard she almost never bothers to use. “I didn’t think he would. I mean, he so clearly likes you, but with all of that stuff in his file, I still had to wonder.”

Sandy, being the one who’d put together their file on Jensen, naturally knows every scrap of the material - which might actually be worth looking into now that he thinks of it, considering everything that he saw in Jensen’s head; he knows the version of the file he received was a somewhat abridged, cleaned up one. But what he really gets stuck on is the other part of that statement.

“He so clearly likes me? Have you met Jensen?” Jared knows his face is screwed up in confusion and it drags a burst of laughter out of Sandy.

“Um, yeah,” she nods, still chuckling slightly. “I know you’re oblivious and all, Jay, but if that boy eye-fucked you any harder he’d leave bruises.”

“Sandy!”

“Oh come on, Jared,” Sandy rolls her eyes, “we’re a secret black-ops team, protecting the world from threats they don’t even know exist by forfeiting our own normalcy and safety - I have earned the right to say fuck if I want to. And it’s true; he definitely wants your body.”

Now it’s Jared’s turn to snort his derision, “No more than he wants the body of every other man on the planet.”

The feeling coming off of Sandy now is loaded with indulgent fondness and a touch of exasperation. “Whatever makes you feel better, sweetheart,” she bats her eyes playfully for a moment before surprise floods over her and those eyes shoot wide. “Oh! Hi Jensen!”

Jared whips around, eyes rushing to the open doorway, just outside of which he can see Jensen standing. Crap! It’s been a long, long time since anyone managed to sneak up on Jared. His power always alerts him to the presence of another set of emotions, but the permanent, low-level awareness he’s developed toward Jensen seems to have prevented that. Well that’s a problem on just so many levels.

The older boy quirks an eyebrow at them and moves on, eyes lingering for a half a second too long on Jared as a mixture of resentment and fear and a tiny twinge of something akin to jealousy prickles along Jared’s senses. What was that all about?

***

It’s been five days since it happened, and Jensen’s going to start climbing the walls if something doesn’t happen soon. Of course, Jeff had assured him before the first mission that things weren’t typically that busy – a mission here, a mission there, plenty of downtime for relaxing and training or, he had pointedly suggested, going for one’s GED. At the time that had seemed like a pretty sweet deal – except for the GED part; he’s a fucking superhero now, he doesn’t need a diploma, thanks - but then, at the time he hadn’t gotten up close and personal with Jared Padalecki’s brainpan.

Now, Jensen’s always been the curious type and it’s gotten him into more trouble over the years than it’s probably been worth, but it’s also saved his ass once or twice, so he’s not inclined to just sit by and go with the uninformative flow. He’s also pretty good at piecing together puzzles, and once he’s really been looking, it’s become obvious that something’s rotten in Denmark… er, Texas. Whatever.

Take the sudden disinterest in what happened on Jeff’s part, add in Jared’s complete silence on the matter, and the obvious confusion from the rest of the team. Then look at the way it happened, plus Jared’s obsessive need to cover up that – really fantastic – body and the fact that Misha and Chad and the facility doctors all touched Jared, but only over clothes or through gloves, and none of them seem to have been effected. So whatever happened has something to do with skin-on-skin; but it doesn’t work like that all of the time because Jared almost always leaves his fingers bare. And finally, the big mystery piece – whatever it was that happened between them, it didn’t have a damn thing to do with precognition.

Conclusion? Jared’s either got more powers than he’s letting on – secret powers he doesn’t want the team to know about, even though Jeff’s clearly in on it – or he’s lying about the one he has. Now there’s an idea that’s more than a little freaky and Jensen really doesn’t know what to do with it now that he’s put it together.

There’s also this other little thing; that funny little pressure that’s started coiling up tight in the back of his mind occasionally over the last few days. It’s like… It sounds crazy, he knows it, but then so does most of the stuff in Jensen’s life: It’s like somebody’s poking at him. Inside his head. It’s really fucking creepy, actually, and he can’t figure out if it has something to do with what happened between him and Jared or if it’s all in his imagination.

Or maybe he’s developing a mutant strain of brain tumor. He wonders if he’s the first person ever to hope for a brain tumor.

Whichever way you slice it though, Jensen can’t deny that he’s developed the uncanny tendency to end up wherever Jared happens to be, without really intending to go there. Which is how he’s ended up standing on the roof in the first fucking place.

The sun is setting; purple and orange over a goldenrod plain. It’s like one of those watercolors in crappy motel rooms, except, you know, kind of a little bit pretty. You know, if you get moved by shit like that. Which Jensen doesn’t. The only reason he’s up here in the first damn place is because of the stupid, internal Jared-beacon he’s developed. Maybe they should, like, talk about that or something. It’s getting kind of annoying.

“Something on your mind?” Jared asks quietly, the dry prairie breeze ruffling his hair. His back is to Jensen, feet dangling precariously over the side of the building, but he doesn’t seem concerned. Jensen had been pretty sure he was all stealthy and shit sneaking up here; should have known better than to try and trick the fucking ninja-master.

“Just admiring the view,” Jensen retorts easily, and if he happens to be looking at the flex of Jared’s shoulders under his sweatshirt – did he not get the memo that it’s 100 degrees out here? – and the way his hair curls at the strong curve of his jaw instead of the sunset, well, Jared’s not looking at him anyway, so he’ll never know the difference.

Jared turns just enough that Jensen can make out the shape of his profile, highlighted in tangerine and fuchsia, the dips of shadow more pronounced. There’s something that might be a tired attempt at a smirk playing across his lips, but it fades fast and he’s back to facing into the open space of land in front of him.

Jensen’s not exactly sure when he decided to sit down on the cat’s tongue pavement next to the kid, but suddenly he is.

“So,” he drawls after a long minute of silence, “the New York team, the Dubai team, the Tokyo team and the El Paso team. Because nothing screams booming metropolis in need of saving quite like West Texas.” He’s not really expecting an answer, it’s just been on his mind ever since he found out about the handful of other U.N. sponsored groups like theirs – and when the hell did he start thinking of himself in conjunction with the team? – all over the globe.

Jared shrugs and Jensen figures that’s about as far as that line of conversation is going to take them, so it shocks the shit of him when Jared volunteers, “I’m from San Antonio originally. I was the first recruit on the team, so maybe…” he shakes his head, shaggy little tendrils of it sticking to the fine sheen of sweat at his temple, “I dunno. Maybe not.”

“Not exactly San Antone adjacent here,” Jensen points out casually. He braces his hands on either side of his body to leans back some, the tip of his middle finger unintentionally resting against Jared’s thigh. He doesn’t bother to move it.

“It’s quiet, secluded;” Jared shrugs, “people need the jobs so nobody’s likely to look a gift horse like the facility in the mouth.”

Jensen wonders if that secluded bit was supposed to be an argument for the facility being built here, or for them building it here for Jared’s sake.

“Guess you get to go see a lot of your family, being close to home and all.”

Jared slides a glance Jensen’s way but he doesn’t point out the fact that Jensen already knows from that episode with the heart-attack special in Jared’s memories that Jared’s been calling this place home for a hell of a long time.

“We’re not really close,” is his reply, a little terse, and Jensen would have bet money that that really was the end of it, but after a second, Jared barrels right on, looking about as surprised by that fact as Jensen is. “We talk on holidays and stuff, but I haven’t been back in years. It’s hard on them, knowing what I am. Just easier to stay here.”

“Mmm. I haven’t seen my folks in a while either,” Jensen agrees. He can’t even remember the last time he mentioned his parents out loud. Jared gives him this soft smile like he understands – which Jensen guesses he does, since he saw it all - hazel eyes lit up in the half-light, and for maybe the first time ever, that look doesn’t fill Jensen with the need to beat the shit out of somebody. He’s seriously freaking himself out.

“How long have you been here?” Jensen changes the subject with no finesse whatsoever. He cannot for the life of him figure out what’s up with his sudden need to steer the conversation away from making Jared uncomfortable – Jared, who he can’t stand and who’s keeping some kind of potentially dangerous secret from him; Jared, who, from what he overheard, thinks Jensen’s just some slut who goes after anything with a dick. Which he’s not; sluts give it up for free.

The younger man draws in a breath so long Jensen’s not actually sure it’s going to end. He lets it out in a rush, followed by a slightly mumbled, “Since I was five.”

So that kindergarten thing was probably what landed him here. Jensen had wondered, but he’d been worried about trying to look anything up on the facility’s computers – there was a damn good chance they were being monitored – and asking one of the other team members was almost guaranteed to get back to Jared.

Jensen doesn’t know how to carry on from there without overplaying his hand – he’s pretty sure that they both know what’s going on here, but it’s one thing to imply you know somebody else’s dirty little secrets and another to come right out and say it. Also, from what he could tell, there’s a reasonable chance that Jared’s killed somebody with his mind before, and Jensen really doesn’t feel the need to test his healing ability out against psychic assault.

Jared rubs a hand through his hair; face contorting as he skims carelessly over the bump on the back of his head. His fingers don’t quite retreat; instead tentatively exploring the area.

“You’re gonna pull your stitches,” Jensen warns sagely. Jared shoots him an ‘are you kidding?’ look and, ok, fine, “’S what people say on TV,” he admits with a smirk.

Jared smiles, wide and natural and wow, Jensen’s never had the magnitude of those dimples turned on him full force before; he feels all gooey and soft for no discernable reason. Damn, those things should count as a superpower all by themselves.

“They’re not really stiches anyway,” Jared says, eyes directed slightly upward as he concentrates on the feel beneath his questing fingers, “I think its superglue or something.”

Jensen gets through one bark of a laugh before Jared, seemingly unawares, sticks the tip of his tongue out of the corner of his mouth like he’s thinking hard. Fuck if that isn’t distracting as all get out. His laugh titters off into something that sounds a lot like a breathless giggle, except for the fact that Jensen is far too rugged and manly to giggle. Seriously.

Jared slaps his hand back into his lap with a sigh, nose wrinkling as he dejectedly complains, “It itches.”

Jensen nods in sympathy – his megafast healing process itches like fire every time he gets a cut or scrape, or, you know, a stab. It really sucks, but at least it only lasts for a couple of minutes; he’d go nuts if he had to live like that for days.

That right there sparks the thought, and once it’s nestled, it won’t seem to go away. It’s a terrible idea to use up his ace in the hole, and maybe kind of genius; he can’t really decide. But hey, fuck it, Jensen learned a long time ago to go with his gut and if it goes well, this could really work in his favor.

Jared’s eyes shoot wide for the fraction of a second that Jensen can see them as he tugs the younger man in close. There’s a good chance that if they were standing up instead of teetering above a three-story fall that Jared would be able to pull one of his tricky Jedi moves and keep Jensen from yanking his head in close, but as it stands, Jared just shoots his arms out to balance himself, giving Jensen the chance to part the silk-soft hair falling over the wound and get his tongue on the rough, broken skin.

It actually does feel like superglue, but there’s enough of an iron-tang there for him to know that he’s reaching the injury beneath too. There’s a hot burst of air right over his crotch as Jared squawks incredulously – another time, another place, Jensen could really enjoy this position – shoving at Jensen to try and make him let go without toppling them both over the ledge. Despite the fact that Jared knocks him on his ass on a pretty regular basis, Jensen is actually a strong guy, and given an advantage like this, there’s not a whole lot that Jared can do to make him stop.

He can tell the second his saliva kicks in; Jared’s whole body locks up in shock for a fraction of a second and then he’s pawing at Jensen like he doesn’t give a shit if he ends up pushing them both over the side of the building as long as it stops. Jensen figures that ought to be enough, so he releases the kid, enjoying the little offended-meets-what-the-fuck expression on Jared’s face. Then the younger man’s fingers find the spot where the cut used to be, by now probably clean, unbroken skin and that look melts right into ‘holy shit’. He never realized how damn expressive Jared is.

Looks like the perfect cue for Jensen’s dramatic exit.

Jared’s hand catches around his wrist and for some unknown reason, Jensen’s brain decides to helpfully point out that this is the first time Jared’s ever voluntarily touched him. “H-how…” the kid sputters, “Does Jeff know you can do that?”

Jared’s eyebrows are actually twitching, like he’s working the muscles so hard to keep them arched that high that they’re trembling under the strain. Jensen grins back at him, eyes slitted in self-satisfaction – about damn time he got a chance to be the shocking one of their little duo

“We all need our secrets, right?” Jensen purrs, not bothering to conceal the teasing lilt to his voice. “I won’t tell if you won’t”

***

Jared’s panting by the time he reaches Jensen’s door; panting because he ran like hell itself was nipping at his heels and he felt like it too. He’s not getting images from Jensen’s dream anymore now that he’s awake, but he can still feel the sleep-muted panic from the other boy amplifying with each passing moment. His knock resounds through the hollow steel, knuckles burning slightly from the force he’s applied. For a moment he doesn’t hear anything, then finally there’s a grumble near on the other side of the door and the airlock slides open with a rush of oxygen that flares Jared’s bangs.

Jensen’s standing there on the other side, sleep mussed and bleary eyed, bare chest still heaving from the nightmare Jared knows he woke the older boy up from. He’s trying incredibly hard not to notice that Jensen apparently sleeps naked.

“Are you ok?” spills out of Jared’s mouth before he gets a chance to give his brain final approval. He’s suddenly very aware of how bare his hands are, how he’s only wearing a t-shirt and pajama pants instead of his usual long sleeves. He’d feel naked, except that the miles and miles of skin on display in front of him is there to remind him how well clothed he really is.

Jensen takes too long to answer, the words visibly turning over in his head, and in the meantime Jared gets to feel the razor-sharp panic degrade into base annoyance, mixed with suspicion and maybe embarrassment. Not for the first time he notes bothersomely how being this close to Jensen no longer makes him want to up-chuck.

Jensen’s green-gold eyes are still heavy lidded, but there’s real thought behind them when he asks, “You saw that?”

And heck yes, Jared saw that – he felt that! Like he was drowning in a sea of his own fluids, screaming out into the darkness with no one to hear his raspy, weakened voice, and the wrinkled, water-logged hands pawing at him, dragging him under…

Jared draws in a breath around the memory of water filling his lungs and scrapes together a nod in answer to Jensen’s accusation. Chances are, he should deny it, but he’s already run halfway across the facility to get here, and really, there’s no other excuse. Too late to back down now.

Jensen’s lips stick together slightly as he opens and closes his mouth over and over, dry like he’d been gasping through his mouth in his sleep just moments ago.

Jared doesn’t expect the bluntness, although he probably ought to, when Jensen says, “The precog thing is bullshit, isn’t it.”

Reflexively, Jared peers down the empty hall. It’s three in the morning, so nobody’s out wandering around, but he still can’t bring himself to actually voice the answer, though it’s been pretty clear for a while now that Jensen’s guessed part of it at least. Jensen nods almost imperceptibly and steps back just enough to be an invitation. Jared walks into the darkened room without a second thought.

The sound of the door shunking closed behind him is like a gong in the stillness, plunging the room into blue darkness, and Jared can’t make himself move beyond that first step inside, unable even to rationalize to himself why he’s here in the first place.

“So, what? You’re, like, a mind reader?” Jensen guesses, prowling around behind Jared to go flop down on the couch. He’s making no concession to try and cover up that he’s naked, and it’s unnerving how distracting that is – Jared wonders whether Jensen’s intentionally trying to throw him off balance or he’s just that unconcerned about his state of undress.

“Not exactly,” Jared answers obliquely. He’s not supposed to talk about this – he’s’ just not. He’s made it years so far without any compelling need to explain what he is to anyone; without anyone even suspecting that there’s more to Jared’s story. But then again, they’ve never had anyone like Jensen, have they? Never anyone as inquisitive, as pushy, as bound and determined to get under Jared’s skin. Less than a month and Jensen’s already figured out more about Jared than the team, the friends, he’s been surrounded by for years.

Somehow it all ends up flowing right over his tongue, easy as if it’s common knowledge. “It’s called empathy. I feel what other people feel.”

Jensen’s laid out on the couch, arms crossed behind his head, ankles forming an ‘x’ that leads Jared’s eyes right up to the dark-shadowed dip of… a place where they don’t belong. At all. Damn Jensen and his seemingly contagious over-sexualization.

The older boy ‘hmm’s and grates his plush lips against one another.

“And the memory thing?” he narrows his eyes at Jared, looking for all the world like he’s going to see the answers right underneath Jared’s skin.

Jared tugs down the end of his t-shirt, though it hasn’t ridden up in the slightest, and discovers that he can’t keep his eyes from flittering away from the burnished green intensity in Jensen’s when he admits, “I don’t know. Never happened before.”

“So I’m just special?” Jensen props himself up on his elbows, looking down his body at Jared with a skeptical expression. The emotion coming off of Jensen is warm, but still colored with suspicion; self-satisfied but still uncertain.

“Apparently,” Jared shrugs, suddenly finding it easier to turn his attention off to the side and avoid what he knows must be a pleased little smirk from Jensen – that’s certainly what it feels like inside of his head anyway. “Jeff thinks I have a secondary gift, a mild form of telepathy. I’ve gotten images from touching people before, but never anything as strong as it was with you. I don’t know if that was the head injury or just how much crap you have floating around in your head, but yeah. That’s it.”

The standard issue white sheets are rumpled at the foot of Jensen’s bed, the pillow still bearing the indent of where his head had been. There aren’t any personal touches that Jared can see; no pictures, no books or magazines, not even a glass of water on the bedside table. In fact, if it weren’t for the worn clothes in a pile beside the bed and the black mound that Jared’s sure must be Jensen’s field uniform – they need to have a talk later about keeping his equipment in proper condition – there wouldn’t be any way to know that someone was currently living there.

It’s nothing at all like Jared’s room; meticulously clean, but positively clogged with photos and little notes, random knick-knacks he’s gotten as gifts over the years and a hodge-podge assortment of reading material ranging from case-files and blueprints to old textbooks and Sandy’s hand-me-down paperbacks. The clutter is all a reminder of who he is, a place that feels specifically like ‘Jared’ to keep him grounded even when he’s sleeping and at his most unguarded. There’s not a question in his mind that Jensen’s room will never look like that; he’ll always be ready to abandon everything here at the first sign of trouble, because this place, no place, will ever be ‘safe’ to Jensen.

It occurs to Jared suddenly that the mild frustration simmering through him isn’t actually his own.

Jensen’s sitting up indian-style now, leaning over his legs and glaring at Jared. He’s not exactly sure how long he was staring off into space for, forgetting that Jensen’s still not used to his little social quirks, considering how little social time they actual spend together. On the plus side, from this position he can’t really see anything he’s not supposed to, so there’s an improvement.

“So you’re just lying to the rest of the team?” Jensen asks. From anyone else it would be an accusation, but Jared can feel the apathy underlying Jensen’s curiosity – he doesn’t care that Jared’s lying to the team, he’s just trying to puzzle out what it means that Jared’s doing it.

“What I am is dangerous,” Jared emphasizes, both because it’s true and because it wouldn’t hurt to remind Jensen that Jared’s still not somebody who can be messed with without repercussion, “and the last thing we need is for everybody to be stressed out and guarded around me; it would just throw the problem into overdrive.”

“None of them know?”

“No.”

“Not even Sandy?” Which is just about the most unexpected thing Jensen could have asked. What does this have to do with Sandy?

“Um, no.”

“Hmm.” Jensen squints at the cushion in front of him, thoughts probably racing if the tied-dye smattering of emotions Jared’s picking up are anything to go by. Interest, confusion, anticipation, a hint of fear, lust – because evidently everything makes Jensen horny – and that funny coloring of jealousy again – as if Jared wouldn’t happily trade powers with Jensen any day of the week and twice on Sundays.

“You’re handling this a lot better than I expected.”

Jensen quirks an eyebrow. “Dude, last week I thought you could see the future and this afternoon I was pretty sure you could read my mind. The touchy-feely thing is easily the least creepy option.” He’s crawling forward along the cushions as he says it, stopping with his hands braced on the arm of the couch, back arched like an expectant, oversized cat. Jared’s really never cared for cats. ”So it’s like a skin thing?” Jensen’s gaze flickers over the bare expanses of Jared’s arms, the tan-line printed backs of his hands. He instantly feels a lot more exposed than the naked man in front of him under that hungry scrutiny.

“I well, no, not exactly. I mean, touching amplifies it, but it still works at a distance.” Jared rambles slightly, taking an involuntary step backward.

Jensen hums his understanding again – that’s getting old quickly - pink tongue darting out to lick his lips. Why can’t Jensen just feel one thing at a time? It’s so freaking confusing!

“Do you see everybody’s dreams?” Jensen probes, easing back to sit on his heels, the tension clawing at Jared’s brain receding some.

He knows he needs to be very careful with his answer here, because he’s already crossed so far over his boundary lines with Jensen – really there was no choice, Jensen would have figured it out eventually anyway, and maybe ended up alerting the whole team in the meantime – but that doesn’t mean that Jared can trust him. He doesn’t need to go handing over all of his secrets. But whatever this new frequency is that’s opened up between them, it doesn’t seem to understand the concept of self-preservation.

“I’m more open when I sleep,” he shrugs, pretending like he’s not revealing weaknesses right and left here, “I pick up on things.”

“And come running,” Jensen scoffs humorlessly.

“Not- not usually. I was just…” Damnit. Why does Jensen have to do that; why does he need to pretend to be above it all like Jared’s not sitting here with the cloying taste of Jensen’s fear still clinging to the back of his throat, the bitterness of hurt and blood-salty longing. “Can’t you feel it?” Jared whispers, though he’s pretty sure he knows the answer anyway. “Inside? Like there’s something different now?”

For a long moment Jensen fails to say anything; for so long that Jared’s certain that he’s just going to let the flurried mashup of emotions hanging between them speak for him. Then with a swallow Jared can hears from three feet away, Jensen quietly says, “Yeah.”

It’s more than Jared had figured on getting so he decides to leave it at that for now; not sure what else he’ll give away if they keep going anyway.

“Well, I couldn’t just…” he scratches at the phantom injury on the back of his head, not even tender to the touch anymore; Jensen’s own secret – the one he shared with Jared. “I had to come.”

Jensen hums an understanding – verbalize, damnit! - into his palms as they come up to cup his own face. He lingers behind his broad palms for a minute, breathing into the dark space there and Jared would call it hiding if he wasn’t so relieved not to have to meet those ponderous eyes.

“You can’t tell them, Jensen. You can’t.” Jared tries his damnedest not to make it a plea, but there’s a good chance that he fails there. Jared can feel something cold and calculating slip through Jensen, trying to ice him out, but unexpectedly it gets stopped up around a muted, lukewarmth that if Jared didn’t know better, he’d call affection; camaraderie maybe.

Jensen hands slowly peel away from his face, resting on his bare thighs, and now Jared couldn’t look away from Jensen’s eyes if he wanted to; watching them shine glassy and haunted back at him in the low light. “I won’t tell if you won’t.”

Jared feels his mouth quirk in a pale imitation of a smile, and it’s like the tension bleeds out of the room. “Fair enough.”

With grunt of finality, Jensen hoists himself up off of the couch, making no attempt to stifle a wide yawn.

“You sticking around?” he asks, and for a change, there’s no intent behind the question, no thinly veiled offer to be denied as he brushes past Jared toward the bed.

“I…” Jared clears his throat, suddenly, inexplicably uncomfortable, “I kinda push, when I sleep; part of that being open thing. I’m told it’s soothing. I thought it might help.” The last bit is barely audible even to Jared’s ears, but it’s obvious from the perk of interested suspicion in Jensen’s emotions as well as the way the older boy freezes halfway under the covers that he’s heard. Jared can’t begin to fathom why, after everything he’s spilled to Jensen tonight, it’s offering this tiny bit of comfort that he’s most nervous about.

The frozen moment breaks and Jensen smirks, shrugs, and lays back to fold his arms behind his head on the pillow, a mask of smarmy self-confidence.

“I’ll try anything once,” he replies, fluttering butterfly eyelashes like a weapon.

Jared shakes his head at himself – should have seen that coming – and crawls onto the couch, situating himself for the night and trying very very hard to forget how much of Jensen’s naked skin was laid out here just minutes ago.


	4. Chapter 4

Jensen wakes up to the sound of his door opening for the second time this morning. He’d seriously go mete out some vengeance and shit over the needlessly early hour, but that would involve moving. Instead he settles for grumbling forlornly into his pillowcase, “You are Satan. Or some kind of robot.” Because, honestly, who the hell gets up at five in the morning if they don’t have to? The sun doesn’t even do that, and it’s the frickin’ sun!

“Yeah, but I brought you coffee,” Jared says entirely too pleasantly for a guy who just spent a night on the couch and then woke up at five in the morning! “Two cups of it.”

True to his word, two mugs of the steaming, roasted elixir appear on the bedside table in Jensen’s field of vision, the smell wafting in to give him the exact amount of energy it takes to move his arm over there and grab one of them.

The first too-hot gulp is like heaven, and Jensen doesn’t have the faculties to hold back his moan even if he did have the inclination.

“Dude, I will totally blow you,” he purrs by way of thanks, able to lift himself a little further off of the bed to polish off the first mug faster. Jared splutters from where he must still be standing next to the bed – Jensen hasn’t put forth the effort to actually look up the three miles it’ll take to reach Jared’s face yet – and Jensen has to grin around the lip of his second cup. The kid makes it so damn easy.

Jensen rolls over then, taking care not to spill a precious drop from his still half full mug, to face the day, and more importantly, the really hot guy staring at him shell-shocked. You’d think nobody’d ever offered to give Jared head before. He stretches, tilting and tensing his muscles to get his shoulder to pop and if he happens, in the meantime, to roll his hips just right to expose the way his dick is also greeting the morning and embraces the low thrum of pleasure at being full and ready, but not yet needy, well… ah, who’s he kidding, he just did it to watch Jared’s eyes desperately dart to anything else in the room, just like they had last night, cheeks flushing scarlet. Yeah, this is fun.

“So, you got something against sleep or what?” he asks, because Jared looks in danger of backing out of the room like Jensen’s pointing a loaded machine gun at him, and that would ruin the good time Jensen’s having. Also, he’d never admit it, but last night had been the best night of sleep he’s had in a long fucking time, and he’d really like to know if getting a repeat performance is going to mean waking up at the ass-crack of dawn every time – because if so, he might just have to find a way to make sure Jared’s good and worn out instead.

Jared coughs a little nervously – probably from that slow burn of want working up Jensen’s spine as he thinks about all the fun he could have wearing Jared out - and visibly slips into fearless leader mode, evidently deciding that he’s man enough to shake off the fact that Jensen’s naked and throwing random dumps of desire at him, even though they both know it’s a lie from the way he’s shifting awkwardly from foot to foot.

“Meeting in half an hour,” he says efficiently, brooking no nonsense. Jensen decides this is a perfect time to reach down and give himself a little ‘good morning’ stroke, letting the lust wash over him as he imagines Jared leaning down right now and sucking on his cock like a lollipop. He’s pretty sure Jared just bit his tongue – Jensen could definitely kiss it better. “Um, it, uh… Debriefing, on the Carre case. She was transferred to the Australian facility this morning, so we’re closing the file.”

Jensen groans, nothing to do with the fingers still wrapped loosely around his dick – if debriefings suck as much as briefings, Jensen’s going to need a hell of a lot more coffee. Like, maybe a vat.

“I thought you were supposed to be on R&R with the head thing. Shouldn’t we be, like, being fed peeled grapes by bare-breasted slave-girls or something?”

Jared doesn’t even flinch at the bare-breasted thing. Score, totally gay; Jensen will have to tell Misha.

“I’m injured, not an invalid,” Jared deadpans, “Nor a Roman emperor, for that matter. And even if I was seriously hurt, you don’t get time off for being my partner. I’m just supposed to avoid strenuous activity for a while and meetings do not qualify, so get your ass up, put on some freaking clothes and quit thinking about whatever it is you’re thinking about.”

Jared’s already stepping away with a huff, but there’s something that’s not quite a smile teasing at the corner of his mouth. It’s actually kind of nice not to be the subject of Jared’s abject, mindless distaste. Still, hate to waste an opportunity…

“Strenuous activity, huh? I guess that means no morning sex?”

The leather of Jared’s fingerless gloves squeaks with the pressure he balls his fist into as he turns back around to face Jensen, death glare solidly in place. Jensen tries to think of apple pie and baby bunnies and other innocent shit like that to project at Jared – this whole empathy thing is going to take some practice to manipulate.

“Look, I know it entertains you to screw with me,” Jared cringes immediately at his own phrasing so much that Jensen doesn’t even need to jump all over it, “Just… Can we please try to keep this professional, you incorrigible nymphomaniac?”

“C’mon, Jay, you can’t give me a new toy and not expect me to play with it,” Jensen coos sweetly, mentally running through that fantasy he had in the shower the other day about Jared and Tom and the handcuffs – quality stuff, man. Jared’s blood pressure must be skyrocketing right along with his own, given the particular shade of burgundy he’s turning.

“Hmm, I wonder why I never wanted anyone to find out about my power? It’s working out so well so far,” Jared snarks. Jensen’s not sure he’s ever heard Jared be sassy before; he approves.

Benevolently, Jensen tries to cool himself down, although at this point he’s definitely going to have to jack off once Jared’s cleared the area; his dick’s already clamoring for it.

Jared slicks his hair back from his face and breathes out heavily in relief. It’s not until he turns sideways, making for the door that Jensen notices it, too wrapped up before to really pay attention; the front of Jared’s loose jeans are flat, not even a hint of interested bulge.

He’d be insulted, but right about the time he notices it, Jared turns back to him and says, “By the way, Jensen?” Jensen is suddenly, hopelessly swamped in misery so thick he can barely breathe through it, tears prickling at his eyes, “You’ll wanna be careful with your toys.” He gets a hazel-eyed wink and just that fast the desolation is gone, nothing but a dull-edged memory.

Jared’s long out of the room by the time Jensen finally gets himself to accept the implications of that – the fact that Jared can apparently make him feel anything he wants to, and the fact that somewhere in that little banter they’d had rolling for a minute there, he’d forgotten that he doesn’t really like Jared.

***

Jared doesn’t know much about sex; pretty much gave up on the whole concept at age twelve when he gave that guard a heart attack just by getting off in his own room 100 yards away. He hadn’t known much about it back then either, and everything he’s learned since has mostly been picked up from the biology course he had to take for equivalency exams and a handful of R-rated movies. It’s tough to imagine what any of that would feel like; all of the skin and the touching and the thrusting – it’s so far outside of his wheelhouse he can barely even get a handle on it.

Kissing, though, well he can get closer with that one. He knows CPR, has had to perform it more than once, so he at least has a feel for what another person’s mouth would feel like up against his own; though he admits it’s probably a lot different when said person isn’t unconscious and on the verge of death. Still, it’s something, so naturally, that’s what his subconscious has latched onto for all of these years.

The nights he’s not overcome by other people’s dreams – regardless of what he’d told Jensen, that’s actually pretty rare for him since he intentionally has a room far away from anyone else he might pick up on – or his own special brand of nightmares, he tends to get a lot of kissing dreams. He guesses they’d probably be wet dreams, if the whole ‘wet’ thing was a possibility for him, but as it stands, they’re just dreams about kissing. The softness of someone else’s lips, the slickness of what a tongue must feel like, breath, hot and close, brushing over his face.

Sometimes it goes further than that; sometimes he dreams about another body on top of his, or under his, heat not muted by clothes, and heavy hands on him in places that haven’t felt the touch of another human being since he was old enough to dress himself – which is pretty much everywhere. He can imagine what gentle fingers would feel like running over his legs, up his arms, smoothing over his chest because at least those things he could do to himself. He doesn’t though, do them to himself, because he really doesn’t need that kind of temptation; even with the suppressants, he’s not completely immune – he’s still a teenage guy, after all.

He can’t pretend that this is the first time the body he’s dreamt of hovering over his own, the lips pressing tight to his mouth, belong to Jensen. He can’t even pretend that it started after he saw Jensen’s memories and whatever connection it is between them was born. Jensen does something to him, that under his skin thing, and Jared really hasn’t figured out what to do about it yet.

He turns over, sheets rustling with the movement, to eliminate the siren-song call of rutting against the mattress. His dick is too thick between his thighs – not hard; even at their most intense, the dreams have never been enough to completely circumvent the suppressants – the length of it laying heavy and uncomfortable; aching with that pent up need that echoes through him and builds on itself like lightning in a bottle.

Its three twenty-six in the morning, too early to get up, but there’s no way to go back to sleep around the way his body is throbbing – God knows he’s tried before. He could take another pill, but he’s not really supposed to mess with his levels, and with Jensen now perma-linked to his emotion center, he probably needs to save up his doses for some time he really needs them. Up it is then.

Jared divests himself of his pajama’s, ignoring the way even the slide of elastic over his cock makes it pulse with want, forcing himself to linger in the cold air – he keeps the air conditioner at least five degrees cooler than he likes it, just for occasions like this – before he slips into some workout gear. A nice, taxing run in the brisk, dry air; just what he needs. Maybe he’ll shoot for ten miles this time.

***

Jared’s open hand smacks him on the side of the head, more like a tap than a real hit, but it leaves his ear ringing anyway.

“Whatever happened to no strenuous activity?” he snarls, and yes, he’s a little out of breath. Already. Fuck, he’s supposed to be the one with all the stamina.

“First of all,” Jared says, sidestepping Jensen’s right hook like they choreographed it that way, “I’m not exactly injured anymore, am I?” He only gives a slight shake of his head in indication of the wound that’s secretly been gone for almost half a week. Jensen doesn’t know how Jared’s been ducking his checkups, but maybe being team leader gives you some pull. “And secondly,” he taps Jensen’s belly with the back of his hand, not even bothering to really hit when he know that the fact that he slipped by Jensen’s defenses again pisses him off enough all on its own. “knocking you on your ass doesn’t exactly count as strenuous.”

This is such complete fucking bullshit. Jensen knows how to fight, damnit, and he learned it like a man – none of the practice and training crap; he earned his bones in real knock-down-drag-outs. He may not know any of this fancy, martial-arts flippy shit, but he knows how to take a guy out and damnit he’d give his left fucking nut to land one punch to that taunting little mouth of Jared’s.

“If I tell you you’re telegraphing again, are you going to listen this time?” Jared asks blithely, kicking out a foot that Jensen’s seriously this close to dodging, except for how he doesn’t. Fucker. Instead he ends up stumbling into one of the walls, his bare shoulder clinging briefly through the fine misting of sweat on his skin to the mirrored surface. Jared had sworn up and down that the mirrors would help him work on his technique, see the wrong moves he was making to correct them in the future. Mostly he keeps getting distracted by the idea that he could bang Jared on his hands and knees in here and still be able to see his face. He seriously doubts it’s helping with the training.

Jensen’s been doing his damnedest for the last ten minutes to project psychotic, blinding rage at Jared and the kid hasn’t even broken a sweat, though getting to that place has successfully thrown Jensen into a near-frenzy, so job badly done all around. Maybe it’s time to give up on this projecting thing – except for the fact that horniness seems to freak Jared out, he hasn’t found anything that helps him more than it hurts him to fire off at the kid. Well, Jensen’s nothing if not versatile; time to adapt.

“So how does it work, your feeling thingy?” he prods, successfully ducking another one of Jared’s love-taps. Jared actually falters for a fraction of a second, surprised into looking around self-consciously at the blank walls, even though Jared had personally assured him that this room wasn’t being monitored; Jensen decides to count that as a win.

“I don’t know,” the kid huffs a laugh – hey look, he huffed; that’s almost like breathing hard! – “How does your wonder-spit thing work?”

Jensen smirks, because really, that’s far too pretty an opening to pass up.

“Not just my spit,” he takes the risk of actually winking at Jared when he says it, and it pays gorgeous dividends. Jared leaves his left side totally unguarded for a second and bam! Jensen’s fist his there. Jay recovers fast, breath labored as he steps back out of Jensen’s range, but fuck it – he landed a shot!

“You mean you- How do you even discover something like that?” Jared asks incredulously, shaking his head immediately and adding, “No, nevermind. I don’t want to know.”

“What, you don’t wanna hear about my magical, healing cock?” Jensen pouts his lower comically far, nearly paying for the distraction when Jared’s fist rushes by thisclose to his face, “Works like a charm.”

“And to that, an ardent, eww.” Jared counters, doing some bend-glide maneuver that Jensen’s pretty sure is part of the Electric Slide. He can’t even bring himself to be too hacked off when Jared’s palm slams into the middle of his chest and knocks him back a couple of steps against the mirrors again – it’s unaccountably fun to wear Jared down until he forgets that ‘sir, yes sir’ shell and gets all snarky. It makes Jensen feel like he’s rubbing off on Jared a little bit.

Mmm, rubbing off on Jared…

“Damnit, Jensen, could you focus please!” Jared glares at him. He gets so bitchy about the sex thing – Misha’s right, he absolutely needs to get laid.

“Dude, what? I didn’t even do nothin’.” Jensen relaxes slightly as Jared falls out of his fighting stance with a put-upon sigh, turning his back on Jensen to slink over and grab a chug from the water bottle he’d left by the door.

“Anything,” Jared corrects, absently, sweat-sheened throat working in an incredibly distracting undulation around the water he’s gulping. Jensen’s mouth feels even dryer than before.

Jared finishes his pull and tosses the still-open bottle to Jensen without spilling a drop. Jensen very carefully does not consider the moisture on the mouth of the bottle as he rests the plastic against his lips. The cool liquid seems to paint a trail down his insides, splashing dense and welcome into his gut and he licks a stray droplet from the lip of the bottle before handing it back.

”And by the way,” Jared says, taking back the water and knocking back the remainder, apparently without a second thought, “that was a good hit before. I’m proud of you.”

Jensen ‘psh’es; like he gives a damn if Jared’s ‘proud of him’ or not. He doesn’t have to impress anybody, least of all Jared. And that warm, glowy feeling in his chest is probably just from the exertion anyway.


	5. Chapter 5

They’re hanging out in Jared’s room – Jared’s not exactly sure when this hanging out thing started happening; it’s just Jensen is around a lot nowadays and it always seems to take Jared too long to realize that Jensen’s presence isn’t actually necessary – Jared sitting on the floor, looking over security schematics for their next mission, Jensen sprawled on the couch watching soap operas. Really, soap operas. It’s going to be a long time before Jared gets tired of laughing about that.

The redhead on screen faints into her brother’s arms with a gasping cry. Or at least Jared thinks that’s her brother; maybe that’s the boyfriend. No, wait, was it the boyfriend or the husband was lost at sea, except he’s actually got amnesia and is living with the doctor who also happens to be his ex-girlfriend who’s still in love with him, who Jared’s pretty sure is sleeping with… somebody. Jensen’s tried explaining it; Jared thinks he needs a graph or something.

“So, wait,” he decides to ask, because if he’s going to be stuck watching this, he’d at least like to know what’s happening, “was that the brother or the boyf-“

A sharp rap on the door interrupts him and automatically Jared yells, “Come in!”

The door opens to reveal Jeff, hair slicked back, black suit, a tie so red it looks like he’s bleeding and shoes shiny enough to check his reflection in; consulate meeting today, Jared guesses. Jeff smiles at them both in turn, something more behind that quirk of his eyebrows and Jared has to actively stop himself from ferretting below that calm exterior Jeff wears. It’s none of his business, it’s none of his business.

“Sorry to interrupt, boys,” Jeff apologizes, stepping far enough into the room to lean his hip against the paper-scattered desk. “Jensen, do you mind if I steal Jared for a minute?” He’s actually looking at Jensen when he says it, as though it’s up to Jensen whether or not Jared can have a private moment in his own room. Evidently he needs to have a discussion with Jeff about not inflating Jensen’s sense of self-importance; he’s overindulged as it is.

Wow, if that question doesn’t spur a whole flood of emotions from Jensen. Annoyance and suspicion are lingering right there at the top, followed closely by jealousy – it seems to be Jensen’s default setting number two, just behind lust – and something slightly cool and sticky that feels like being left out. Jensen is easily the strangest person Jared has ever met. Still, he levers himself up off of the couch with a grin that Jared recognizes as nothing close to the genuine article and says, “Help yourself.”

He glances over his shoulder one last time before he’s out the door, shooting a dark look between Jared and Jeff that Jared can’t even begin to interpret.

Jeff stares at the closed door for a moment after Jensen leaves, a curious expression on his face. Jared pulls himself up onto the sofa, so that he’s facing his mentor when Jeff asks off-handedly, “He doesn’t like me, does he?”

Jared catches himself looking at the door as well, that last expression on Jensen’s face floating at the foreground of his mind. “I’m not sure Jensen likes human beings,” he answers with a shrug, “Or animals. Or inanimate objects.”

When he looks back at Jeff, the older man is giving him a powerfully ‘Sandy’ look; all soft smile and narrowed eyes like he knows a secret and he can’t believe Jared’s not in on it. It’s gone so fast, Jared can’t even be 100% sure that it was there in the first place, but that doesn’t seem to quell his sudden urge to squirm under the scrutiny.

“It seems as though you two have made a lot of progress the last few weeks,” Jeff nods, but there’s still something searching about his gaze. It’s been a long time since Jared has had to work this hard to keep from burrowing under the thin layer of composure that pervades Jeff’s emotions.

Jared tentatively agrees, “He’s a fast learner, when he puts his mind to it. He’ll never admit that he’s wrong, but once I point a move out to him, or show him a new one, he picks it up fast. He’ll make a good fighter, already gets top marks with a gun. He’s good.”

That really doesn’t do anything to dispel the musing in Jeff’s gaze, in fact, if anything, it intensifies it and now Jared has to discreetly curl his fingers into fists against his side to keep from scratching at Jeff’s mind until he finds whatever swirling under the surface.

“Anything I should be concerned about?” Jeff puts him off.

“He doesn’t seem to be inclined to go anywhere – he actually seems to like the work; I don’t think he’ll pull anything,” Jared replies, trying to keep things as impersonal as he can, “And despite what the file suggests, he seems to have minimal violent tendencies.”

Jeff actually smirks at him this time. “I meant more along the lines of the two of you.”

“Oh,” he knows the surprise is clear in his voice, but he smothers it quickly in professionalism, “no, I don’t think so. I’m slightly more attuned to him than the others, but otherwise, things are as normal as you could expect them to be. I see his dreams more than most, but that’s about as far as any weirdness goes.”

He briefly considers discussing upping his levels – between Jensen’s dreams and his own, he’s been going for a lot more early morning runs – but decides against it. Bringing up his regimen with Jeff is just begging for an argument about how he shouldn’t be on them at all, and the staring’s got Jared feeling too wound up to pretend that he’ll be able to control his temper right now.

Jeff nods thoughtfully and is quiet for so long that Jared finds himself holding his breath, waiting for some other, unseen shoe to drop.

“I’d like for you two to take point on the Nevada job,” Jeff tells him matter of factly, glancing down that the schematics laid out over Jared’s floor. And that’s… well, it’s nowhere near as bad as Jared was expecting. It’s good, actually. He’s been expecting to go in with Tom as back up – Tom’s almost always his back up on infiltrations because neither Chad nor Misha is as good in a fight - but Jensen’s actually much better at stealth and improvisation than Tom, and with the link, it should be easier to tell if Jensen gets into any trouble. It’s a good plan actually; the only reason he hadn’t considered it himself is because Jensen’s still junior on the team and he didn’t think Jeff would allow it.

He doesn’t realize how goofy the smile painting his face is until Jeff raises his eyebrows. Quickly he hides his mouth behind a feigned cough and rearranges his expression into something less incongruously giddy.

“That’s fine,” he ascents, “I’ll start prepping Jensen immediately.”

There’s a flash-fire burst of surprise from Jeff, bleeding away into amusement quickly before it fades under the usual wash of calm. Jared’s not sure he understands; what had he said?

Jeff interrupts him before he even gets a chance to ask. “Good, that’s settled then.” The older man stands, brushing imaginary lint off of his pristinely creased pants-leg. “I’ll let you get back to your show.”

“It’s not my show,” Jared fires offendedly at his mentor’s retreating back, “Jensen’s the one who watches it.”

Jeff does a poor job of repressing a grin as he nods in agreement with Jared just before the door shuts behind him. Jared huffs at the glowing TV screen. It’s not his show.

The doctor/ex-girlfriend is trying to convince amnesia-guy that they should consummate their relationship. Jared suspects that’s just so she can pretend later that the baby she just found out she’s pregnant with belongs to amnesia guy and not the rugged-yet-sensitive sheriff.

Crap. Sometimes he really hates Jensen.

***

White noise crackles in Jared’s right ear, the subtle buzz of electronic feedback in his earbud from being too close to so many computers.

“These com-links are the shit! I can hear you breathing!” Jensen enthuses over the low sound. Jared’s not sure if it’s just the expressiveness of the other boy’s voice or if can actually feel Jensen smiling.

“Glad you like,” he says back flatly, picking through the mess of wires under the main computer-bank’s control panel. “Think you could focus on the mission now?”

“Dude, I’m done,” Jensen lazes back and Jared can just picture him leaning back in a chair somewhere on the other side of the building, arms folded behind his head, “Just waiting on your slow ass.”

“Yeah, well, you got the easy job, junior,” Jared half-growls, at last finding the wire he’s looking for. He cuts through it deftly with the knife strapped to his hip, making quick work of patching in the link Sandy had built to let them break into the ‘suspected mutant crimes’ database remotely from now on. The base really should have known better than to set up a system like this without expecting one of the teams to step in and check on it.

“Junior?” Jensen bristles but Jared can tell he’s still grinning, “At least I’m old enough to drink, kiddo.”

“Shut up,” Jared retorts absent-mindedly, tucking the wiring back into place to disguise the patch he’d just put in.

“Aw, don’t worry, Jay-jay, you’ll be a big boy one day, too.”

“You really want to go there, Jensen?” He asks under his breath, fitting the panel back in place and screwing it closed tightly. It’s a stupid question, and he doesn’t mean it the way he realizes Jensen’s inevitably going to take it, but he’s a little busy at the moment with the countdown he’s got going in his head. 4 minutes until Sandy will have to give back over control of the building’s power grid and they’ve still got to rendezvous with Chad.

“Oh, you know I do, baby,” Jensen hums lasciviously, and even knowing it’s a joke, there’s something about that voice that sinks into Jared’s skin. Yeah, definitely time to up the levels, he doesn’t care what Jeff thinks.

“We’re set,” he cuts off their banter with the command, “Meet me at the elevators, third floor, west side. T-minus 3 minutes.”

“On it,” is Jensen’s succinct reply. Despite it all, Jensen actually does know how to get down to business when the time comes. Jared has no idea why the makes a thin pride well up in him.

Jensen rounds the corner just as Jared reaches the elevators, the older boy checking over his shoulder in case any of the guards happen to be breaking away from the distraction they’d laid on the second underground level, gun held in front of his chest at the ready. He actually looks like he knows what he’s doing. Because he actually does. Jared may be smiling just a little.

“Ready?” he asks, not waiting for the affirmative reply before forcing open the elevator doors to reveal the open shaft. It’s a complete pain in the butt to have to do things this way when Chad could just port them out from right here if they could just communicate the coordinates. Trust Area 51 to set scramblers on their perimeter – he guesses they’re just lucky their coms worked inside. It’s still annoying to have to do things the old fashioned way though.

“This is so bad ass,” Jensen’s voice rumbles down the dark, open space. They teleported here and Jensen thinks this is bad ass. God help him.

“Yeah, I’m the child in this relationship,” he teases, leaning into the shaft to attach his safety line before making the small jump to the descending cords keeping the elevator suspended somewhere below.

“Ah, so you admit we’re in a relationship?” Jensen counters, words hitching slightly as he follows Jared’s lead and begins to climb.

“We’re two people who know each other,” Jared grunts, rubber-synth squeaking against the metal cable in his hands, mentally keeping closer count now that they’ve reached the sixty second mark. They’re going to be cutting it close. “By definition, we’re in a relationship.”

“Go on, Jay, deny your true feelings,” Jensen waxes melodramatically; “Our epic man-love will win out in the end.” It loses some of the impact because he’s panting with the strain, but Jared still finds himself laughing softly as he pushes open the emergency hatch to the roof and is greeted by a wash of cool night air. Forty-five seconds.

“Didn’t peg you for a commitment kind of guy.” Jared grips Jensen’s arm as he reaches the edge of the hatch and helps pull him up onto the roof.

“Not,” Jensen grins, Cheshire cat wide, “just like dicking with you.”

The glowstick crack seems loud in the stillness, and this is where it gets tricky. Even without the security cameras or lights operational, any of the guards patrolling outside might see them before Sandy spots them on the satellite and Chad can get here. And that’s just going to be awkward all around.

Jensen redraws his gun and flips the safety, bracing himself back to back with Jared as Jared brandishes the incandescent green stick in his hands at the night sky.

For what feels like forever and is probably more like ten seconds, everything hangs; time, air, the breath in his lungs. The world narrows down to the cool brush of desert breeze on his face, the almost maddening itch of sweat gathering in every bend and cranny under his uniform, the tingle of his palms inside his gloves and burning lassitude in his muscles from the climb up, the gentle bump of Jensen’s shoulder blade against his own as Jensen scans for signs that they’ve been spotted, the hazy, too-near warmth emanating from the back of Jensen’s neck to the nape of Jared’s. Jensen’s nervous and excited, running on all cylinders and ready to give it all up if he has to; not because of right or wrong or belief in the mission but because this is a feeling worth going out on. Jared envies that abandon, and is terrified of it all at once.

Chad doesn’t say anything as he phases in – unusual for him, but by Jared’s count they’re down to 19 seconds so he can’t blame the rush – just lays a hand on each of them and lets the darkness swallow them up.

For some reason, there’s always a degree of shock whenever Jared lets Chad teleport him. He knows better, but a part of him still always expects it to feel like something, a vast coldness or a pressure, or anything at all, but instead it’s like blinking and when he opens his eyes next, they’re standing in the middle of the control room. His eyes momentarily rebel against the glare of Sandy’s kaleidoscope walls, giving him just enough time to string out a connection to Jensen at his back and make sure the other man is alright. He doesn’t even realize that’s what he’s doing until after it’s done.

Tom and Misha are on them quickly with claps on the back and welcomes home as if they’ve been gone for more than an hour. There’s something about missions that always seems to stretch out the time. Jeff’s wearing an approving smile, confident that they’ve completed the objective without even a report. He holds out one large hand to Jensen, who casually deposits a computer chip in his palm with a self-satisfied tilt to his plush mouth.

“Good job, boys,” Jeff says, warm with a gratification that’s almost paternal. He gives a small head-tilt toward the chip in his hand and makes a swift exit to deliver it to whoever had arranged for their entrance this evening in exchange for it.

Jared gives his partner a pat on the shoulder and earns himself a bright, adrenaline-packed smile in return. It takes him a while to remember to move his hand.

***

Jensen’s considered a lot of ways to do this in the last few weeks. He’s thought of taking it slow and sweet, because Jared seems like that kind of guy, but neither of those descriptors are exactly in Jensen’s repertoire and he’s not looking to add tehem. Besides, when you get a body like Jared’s in the sack, you gotta put that puppy to work. Heh. Puppy. Padapuppy.

Still, Jay probably isn’t the type to go all out, hold-me-down, rough-me-up on the first rodeo – although, fuck, he would love to be wrong about that – so maybe it’s a good thing that he’d managed to curb the urge to just say fuck the clean up and pounce on the kid as soon as they’d gotten out of sight of the others. There had not been a single moment of his shower and the walk over here though that he hadn’t regretted not already being wrapped up in Jared’s hot, tight body. God, he might be stuck on permanent-boner mode.

Ultimately, he’d decided, seduction was his best option. Jared had proven more than once that even a hint of dirty talk could make him blush and fidget, which pretty well had to be a vote in Jensen’s favor. Dirty talk he can do. A few sticky-sweet, filthy words and he’d have Jared laid out under him, gasping Jensen’s name and writhing pretty as a picture. Or over him; really, Jensen’s not picky. And with those powers of Jared’s… this is going to be one hell of a night.

Jensen’s still hopped up from the mission – which he’d rocked, naturally – tingly, steam-hot endorphins burning through him, looking for an outlet, and Jensen knows exactly the one he wants to use.

Jared’s a little slow to answer the door, maybe already in bed or, oh, fresh from the shower. Mmm, maybe scrambling to get a towel tucked around his waist, water still trickling down all that skin that Jensen’s dying to see…

Or not. Damn.

Jared opens the door dressed in a pair of track pants and a t-shirt – slightly less fully dressed than usual but, still way too covered for Jensen’s taste. Seriously, is the kid never naked?

There’s a shine of wetness at his hairline and his amber waves are still clinging to his neck in crisp little dried-sweat curls. He hasn’t showered then; that’s fine, Jensen fully intended to get him all wet again anyway, so he’s not going to complain that Jared’s already halfway there.

Jared smiles a little awkwardly, probably feeling every scrap-claw-take-own instinct Jensen has singing through his veins like a narcotic, but he still says, “Hey, Jensen,” with mostly sincere lightness.

“Hey,” he purrs back, leaning up against the door jamb so that his body forms a smooth, provocative curve. What? No point being subtle when the other guy already knows what you’re feeling.

Jared clears his throat uncomfortably and glances down at the floor before asking, “What’s up?” He winces a second later, obviously realizing how very much he just stepped into that one, but Jensen lets it go.

“Just feeling a little worked up,” Jensen replies, mock-casual even as he lets his hips jut forward, the hem of his intentionally too-tight tee riding up above his navel. “Restless, you know, from the mission. Though it might be the same for you.”

“Oh, uh, yeah,” Jared scrubs at the tendrils of hair sticking to his forehead with the back of his hand. “I was just doing some push-ups. Working out’s real good for that.”

Jensen can feel the smirk twisting his lips, knows how it has to look, doesn’t really give a shit because hell yeah, he’s the predator here and he’s loving every minute of it. “Not exactly what I had in mind.”

He doesn’t give Jared a chance to respond with anything else, using the element of surprise to lunge his way into Jared’s arms, fingers tangling in fine, slightly damp hair as he crashes their mouths together. His lips bruise, itch-burning as they heal almost instantly, and he kind of loves that Jared’s won’t fix themselves right away; that for a few minutes at least they’re going to look all puffy and red from the way Jensen’s grinding their mouths together, catching Jared’s lips with his teeth as the kid stupidly tries to say something that might be “Jensen, stop.” Like that’s going to happen.

He only gets a few seconds to enjoy the feel of Jared hard body just a couple of layers of cloth away from his own, before the kid inevitably pulls out some training on him and twists Jensen’s arms up behind his back, the world spinning so crazily that he doesn’t have a chance to focus before he’s getting intimate with the wall just inside of Jared’s door. The kid’s pressed up tight against his back, a long line of heat and that edge of pain where he’s gripping Jensen’s wrists and yeah, just yeah.

“Fuck, yeah,” he moans against the paintjob; hey, it’s been a while and Jared’s just been hanging around taunting him like a carrot on a stick. “Didn’t know you had it in you, babe.”

The younger man jerks away at the first roll of Jensen’s hips and he does his level best not to whimper at the loss.

“Come on,” his voice gets caught somewhere between a whine and a groan as he turns to face a horrified-looking Jared – would probably sound fucked out already if Jared wasn’t a goddamn fucking cocktease. “is this the ‘guy’ thing? ‘Cause I kinda figured you were more about the emotional connection and shit.”

“And you think this,” Jared flings a hand back and forth between them incredulously, “qualifies!?” At least he didn’t say he wasn’t into guys.

“I’m your best friend!” he retorts, in what seems like a very calm, coherent manner considering that his dick is threatening to disown his body and immigrate to Jared-land if something doesn’t happen right fucking now.

“I don’t even like you half the time!”

“And yet I’m still your best friend.” Jensen crosses his arms smugly because he’s right and they both know it. He’s the only person in the whole damn facility – hell, the whole world – who Jared does the ‘honest and truthful’ dance with. Well, except for Jeff, but he’s not going to count Jeff right now because that’s really not the point. He’s totally Jared’s best friend. Although that does bring up a stunning and mildly gut-wrenching idea…

“God, don’t tell me Jeff keeps you all to himself.”

Jared’s face contorts so violently that Jensen takes an involuntary step back to avoid the puke is brain tells him is about to hit the floor. “Ugh! Excuse me while I go use up the world’s supply of bleach to scrub that image out of my brain.”

Wait, what? So he’s saying… that means… they’re not... “Seriously?”

“Jeff is like fath-“ Jared catches himself halfway there, like just because Jensen’s dad was a sonofabitch he can’t follow the metaphor, “No, we could never do something like that. It’s just too creepy.” The kid shivers all over, rubbing at his skin like he just developed a chill. “Plus, Jeff is very straight, like, Tom-straight.”

Jensen can’t keep himself from snorting a rueful laugh, “Yeah, I’ve heard that one before, usually right before I get a dick up my ass.”

Jared looks ready to hit something, but instead he just flails his arms and marches as far across the room from Jensen as he can get. “Do you have to do that?”

“What?”

“Make it seem…” Jared shrugs, eyes squinted at some invisible argument dictionary in front of him, “cheap and disgusting.”

And that definitely deserves the harsh-laugh/eye-roll combo. “Sorry to abuse your delicate notions, princess, but that’s pretty much what it is.”

“That why you’re so desperate to get into my pants?” Jared hurls back at him coldly. Oh, that is so not even alright.

“Hey! I’m not fucking desperate, ok?”

“I can tell.”

“Fuck you! Two months! I haven’t gotten laid in two fucking months!”

“And you picked me to let it all out on!?”

They’re yelling loud enough that if anybody lived anywhere close to Jared, they’d probably be pounding on the door right now. This was not the fucking plan. “Jeff freaks me out, Sandy’s a chick, Misha makes things blow up by touching them, and I have a very strict rule about not getting explosives near my junk. Tom’s straight and Chad,” Jensen shakes his head, skin crawling at the mere thought, “On the list of all the people in the world I would feasibly fuck around with, Chad only ranks above people with communicable diseases because I haven’t figured out a way to prove yet that Chad is a communicable disease.”

“You can’t even catch communicable diseases!” Jared shouts, incensed. And, hey, way to not focus on the issue!

“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean I want to go around boning sickies. Gross.”

Jared glares at him, like he’s just committed some cardinal sin for not having a burning desire to provide sexual favors for the health-challenged. On the plus side, he’s talking at a normal volume when he says, “Flattered as I am to be you’re only viable option, the answer’s still no.”

The plan had been good, the plan had been sound, the plan had at least a chance of getting him laid tonight – it is time to go back to the plan.

Jensen manages to intercept Jared as he crosses the room, maybe to go shove Jensen out of the door or something, but regardless, Jensen’s got him now; warm, rage-strung body pressed flush up against him, even closer than the glorious moment when they’d been kissing so he can whisper into Jared’s ear instead.

“C’mon, Jay,” he coaxes, though Jared is rigid against him, like if he holds still enough Jensen won’t notice the twitchy beginnings of Jared’s interest thickening up against his thigh, “You know I’m good, they wouldn’t pay for it if I wasn’t. I’ll let you have anything you want, any way you want it.”

“Bet you’re big, aren’t you, baby?” Ever so slowly Jensen lets his fingertips trail over Jared’s heaving, rock-hard torso. The hand he’s got braced on Jared’s arm tells him it’s giving the kid goosebumps, but even that’s not as good as the way Jared shivers when Jensen’s fingertips find a little patch of skin just at the waistband of Jared’s pants to play with. Jay’s dick is still softer than he would have guessed for a seventeen year old, but it’s working its way to half-mast and Jensen’s embracing every ounce of want he’s got in him to try and nudge it along.

“Got a nice, thick cock to go with all your hard muscles, hmm?” Finally he gives his tongue permission to tickle at Jared’s earlobe; he’s pulling out every little trick he’s ever learned for a hard-sell so the kid better fucking well appreciate it. “So fucking strong, Jay; makes me crazy thinking about all the things you could make me do, wouldn’t even have a choice. Could hold me down and feed me that pretty cock til I’m choking on it; lay me out just push your way in - don’t even have to prep me, you know I can take it.”

Jared’s practically vibrating against him – cock still not nearly hard enough for Jensen’s satisfaction, but he’ll find the right button here in a minute, he’s sure. Except instead of getting those big, gorgeous hands all over him like he expects, Jensen ends up shoved up against the wall as Jared backs away like he just announced he likes to burn down orphanages in his spare time.

“Jesus! Screw you!” Jared’s shouting again, but this time there’s something wrong with his voice. Now it sounds jagged, raw at the edges and too wet. Jensen’s chest starts to ache like he’s swallowed a bunch of fire ants. “You think I could do that? You think that after everything I know, everything I’ve felt inside of you that I could ever hurt you like that? Forget it, Jensen, I can’t and I won’t.”

Jared brushes past him and into the bathroom, fumbling around in the medicine cabinet, knocking shit into the sink until he seems to find what he’s looking for. He shakes a little brown pill out a label-less prescription bottle and swallows it dry as though it’s the only thing that’s going to keep him alive.

“What was that?” Jensen snaps. He can’t understand the anger pulsing through him like an off-rhythm heartbeat, but it doesn’t take a genius to figure out where it’s coming from.

“None of your business,” Jared grumbles back, and his surliness isn’t doing a damn thing to make Jensen want to fight back against whatever it is Jared’s pushing on him.

“Fuck you, what was it?”

“Aspirin,” Jared snarls, planting himself on the couch with his head in his hands. “You give me a damn headache.”

And that’s… he’s just… You know what, fuck it; he’s had e-fucking-nough of this shit. “What’s a’matter, big boy, got your jockstrap wound too tight? Can’t get it up?”

The last thing in the world he expects his for Jared to come back at his goading with the quiet challenge of, “No. I can’t.”

Jensen’s already got his mouth open on a smart-ass retort that dies a bloody death somewhere between his brain and his throat. “… What?”

“No,” Jared repeats solemnly, going slow like he’s thinking Jensen’s mother must have dropped him on his head as a baby. “I can’t get it up, okay?”

Jensen’s mind just kind of stutters over those words for a couple of minutes; replaying them over and over in different sequences to see if they make some kind of sense that he’s not seeing. “I… are you sure? ‘Cause it kinda felt like a minute ago-“

“They’re suppressants, alright,” Jared clips at him, taking his hands away from his face to stare at the blank television instead, “The pills. I take them to make sure I can’t get it up.”

Ok, well that… No, still not making sense. “Um, why?”

“Damnit, Jensen!” And he’s up again, flailing again, except now Jared looks a little closer to sad than mad. “You saw! You saw what happened the time I… I can’t lose control, I can’t afford to. It’s hard enough just to keep my feelings to myself when I’m wide awake and focused, or have you forgotten our little trip into each other’s heads? I can’t drink or, or get high; heck, I’d avoid sleeping if I could find a way around it. And I definitely can’t afford to get far gone enough to… do that.”

“So you let them castrate you?!” the surge of anger flooding his system this time is familiar, all his own, “Oh fuck that, I’m gonna talk to Jeff. These fuckers can’t do shit like that to you.”

If he didn’t have to walk by Jared to get to the door, he’d already be halfway down the hall, running to bitch out whoever the hell happens to get in his way, because that shit is just wrong on so many levels it makes him want to tear into something, scratch and bite and claw until they’re nothing left and his skin’s broken and bleeding. He wants to make it right in ways he can’t even cope with right now, but instead, Jared’s got him by the wrist and won’t let go.

“I asked them to,” he says, tilt-tipped hazel eyes serious and too old for his face. “Heck, I asked them to do it surgically but Jeff refused to do anything permanent.” Jared huffs a sound that’s nothing like his laugh and grimaces at the empty air to the side of Jensen’s shoulder. “You know, in case I ever decide that accidentally killing someone over a little sex sounds like a great plan.”

Jared’s fingers slip away then and Jensen has to catch himself from tugging them back. Without the anger it all just kind of hurts, and the feel of Jared’s skin had sorta made it better for a minute.

Jared had asked for this, Jared chose it, Jared actively gets up every day and makes sure that something so basic, so human, can’t happen to him.

“How long?” he asks, wondering how he can feel this numb and this bad at the same time. The kid just stares at him in confusion and Jensen scrapes together enough annoyance to snap, “How fucking long have you been on them?” Unfortunately that seems to use up all of his reserves so he ends up flopping bonelessly onto the couch, Jared joining him a few seconds later like he can’t admit the answer and still stay upright.

“Five years.”

“Jesus,” Jensen’s voice sounds like a hollow imitation of itself, “You haven’t jizzed in five years? No wonder you’re so pissy all the time.”

“I’m not pissy.” Jared mumbles dejectedly.

“Clearly.”

It feels like a long while before either of them manages to say anything else. Jensen keeps himself occupied trying to fight off the nagging impulse to reach over and do something stupid like cuddle Jared.

“So, yeah, now you know.” Jared sighs at last, sounding as bone weary as Jensen feels and he’s not sure whether that’s a coincidence or if Jared’s pushing again. “Think you could stop screwing around with me now? Just making it worse.”

Jensen’s not really expecting the words to pop out of his mouth, mainly because he says them at the exact same time as he thinks them. “Stop taking them.”

“No,” Jared answers flatly, as if maybe he’s had this argument before. But if that’s what he thinks, then he’s wrong, because he’s never had this argument with Jensen.

“Yeah, stop taking them. You can do it with me.”

That gets Jared looking up, actually meeting his eyes with this stunned sort of lash-flutter. “Absolutely not.”

“Seriously,” Jensen persists, becoming more and more convinced of the brilliance of this idea with each passing moment. “you can’t hurt me, I’m fucking invulnerable over here.”

“You’re not immortal Jensen! Or what if I messed up something inside your head, like before? What if I did something your body can’t fix.”

“You won’t,” he says, positive of the truth in it the moment the words leave his mouth. It feels strange how little that freaks him out. “You just said that you could never do anything to hurt me.”

“I didn’t…” Jared does that eye-squeeze thing that Jensen’s learning means Jared either thinks he’s the most infuriating person alive, or possibly a complete idiot. “not literally. I meant I would never intentionally hurt you, that doesn’t mean I’m not physically capable of it.”

“You won’t, you wouldn’t let yourself.” Again, what’s with the not freaking out? Because this? Feels totally freak out worthy. If there’s one thing Jensen’s life has taught him, it’s that there’s nobody who can’t hurt him. But apparently his body’s having none of it.

“Jensen, I’m fine,” Jared assures him steadily, “I know it’s unfathomable to you that somebody could be ok without sex, but it’s really not that big of a deal.”

“It’s a fucking crime against nature!” Oh look, there’s the freak out. Now he just needs to figure out why it’s happening over the wrong damn thing. “Look at you; you’re built like fucking’s your one true purpose in life and you wanna tell me that it doesn’t matter? That you don’t want it? Well I call bullshit. I’ve been in your head too, remember? I’ve seen your dreams – fucking vanilla-ass dreams – I know you want it.”

Jared’s come back is so soft Jensen can barely hear it, even in the silent room. It’s also kind of devastating.

“That doesn’t make it ok.”

Here in a minute, Jensen’s going to come up with a really good argument against that. It’s going to be awesome. And persuasive; Jared will have no choice but that bow before the might of Jensen: Debate God. Any minute now.

“So, you’re, like, a virgin?” Ok, that is not the brilliant argument.

Jared’s smile doesn’t quite sit on his lips right. “Not so much ‘like’.”

Wow. This is probably an inopportune time for Jensen’s dick to wake back up. “Have you… I mean, you’ve never done anything?”

“No,” Jared shakes his head, hair sticking out slightly where he keeps combing through it with his fingers.

“So the obsession with making out?” Not that the dreams hadn’t been kinda hot, it had just kind of shocked Jensen how tame they were. That at least is beginning to seem logical now.

Jared blushes beet red but doesn’t answer.

“You have kissed somebody before, right?”

The kid makes a little choked off noise, like a cough with no air behind it, and rubs at his own lips with his fingertips. “I have now.”

“Jesus.”

A part of Jensen feels sort of bad about the way that makes his blood heat up all over again. There are probably rules about not getting turned on like a fucking light switch when your friend tells you embarrassing secrets about himself, but Jensen’s pretty new at the whole friend thing, so he thinks he deserves some leeway. Besides, most people probably don’t have to find out that they just gave their abnormally hot friend his first kiss like ten minutes ago. He sort of feels like he needs to do a disclaimer on that too, because he wasn’t exactly going for awesome kissing technique back there so much as getting his tongue so far inside of Jared’s mouth that Jensen’s the only thing the kid would ever taste again; he can totally do better. Not to mention that now he has to deal with the reality that Jared’s also all innocent and corruptible and-

“Jensen!” Jared chides exasperatedly. Alright, he’s stopping. Probably.

The kid lays his head on the back of the couch and laughs quietly, more like strung-out than actual humor. He whaps Jensen’s leg lightly and Jensen whaps back, leaning in a little as Jared relaxes so that their shoulders brush together.

It feels kinda weirdly right against all of the wrong swishing around in Jensen’s head.


	6. Chapter 6

Jensen’s never been one for spending the night. He’s woken up in somebody’s arms more than once, sure - too fucked-out or -open or whatever the hell to get his ass up after it was over and done with without a few zzz’s under his belt first – but it’s not something he’s ever made a habit of. He doesn’t crawl into bed – or the backseat of a car or a fucking broom closet – with somebody for cuddles and kisses and there’s not a lot of point in hanging around once everybody’s gotten what they wanted.

So it’s trippy how not weird at all it feels to wake up with Jared’s warmth snuggled up against him.

Ok, so technically, Jensen’s the one who’s all sprawled out over Jared like a dog that got too friendly with a semi-truck, but whatever, same difference. Jared never got the chance to shower last night before they both ended up tumbling into bed; too goddamn exhausted from breaking into a motherfucking military base and their ‘let it all out’, talk show moment to give a damn at the time. He still smells of sweat through the worn cotton pressed against Jensen’s cheek, the faint scent of rubber underneath it. It’s kinda nice; comforting in the freakiest possible way. Jensen tips his face up, burying his nose against the curve of Jared’s neck where the smell is stronger, baby-fine curls ticking his nostrils.

The sun’s well up, filtering through the sheer curtains over Jared’s windows. Too fucking bright, especially for a guy who’s usually awake before dawn, but Jared’s still dead to the world; the reflexive twitch of his hand on the small of Jensen’s back the only sign that he’s not in some kind of coma.

He doesn’t wake when Jensen’s fingers instinctually slide under the hem of his t-shirt, seeking out skin, nor when he finds that that little bit isn’t enough and ends up pushing further until his whole damn forearm is up under Jared’s shirt – the mellow, contented vibes humming through Jensen like an electric current amplified by that skin-on-skin thing of Jared’s.

He has to admit, it’s a cool power. It’d be even cooler if he could have it all over - no clothes between them; just smooth, warm skin blissing him out. Add a couple of orgasms to the mix, and fuck yeah, he’d never need to leave this room again.

Jensen’s morning-hard dick twitches at the teasing idea, the little flex skating it against Jared’s ginsu-knife of a hip. What the hell, he figures, closing that bit of space and using the sharp wing of bone to massage a lazy caress to the neglected flesh. He’s not really figuring on getting off – hey, even Jensen has boundaries… sometimes – just kind of enjoying the feel of a warm body against him. It’s seriously been way too fucking long. And, ok, maybe he’s nibbling at Jared’s sweat-salty neck just a little bit, but that’s really more of an unconscious thing – he’s got a little bit on an oral fixation, alright; the hips and the mouth just kinda move as one.

Jared makes this soft blurt of a sound in the back of his throat that inexplicably reminds Jensen of a puppy – he’s never even had a damn puppy, but that’s where his head goes. Jensen makes a mental note to kick Misha’s ass for ever starting that Padapuppy shit, because apparently that’s going to be tainting his brain for the rest of forever. Still, Jared doesn’t wake up, just kind of turns into it, his dry lips sliding over Jensen’s forehead as he lets out a heavy breath.

The sleep-weighted thrum that Jared’s been putting out shifts into something a little hotter, still slow and easy, but now simmering just under the skin, bathing that place low in Jensen’s belly with indolent heat. He wants more of it, wants to feel it really burn through him, see what it would do if he flicked his thumb over Jared’s nipple or rubbed his knee just right against that infuriatingly soft cock trapped under his leg. His whole body’s working a little harder against Jared’s; hips churning a little steadier, mouth sucking a little tighter because he wants that too - wants to leave a hot, dark spot on Jared’s skin to prove he’s been there, wants every-fucking-body to see it and he doesn’t even know why.

Distantly he knows that there’s no way Jared’s going to keep on sleeping for much longer – kind of a miracle none of this has woken him up already – and it’s probably going to be awkward as all fuck when that happens considering that they just had the goddamn conversation about how Jared can’t – won’t – do this stuff, but Jensen can’t make himself stop. He wants, he just fucking wants, and all of that low pleasure slowly oozing into him from Jared’s skin is just making it worse.

There’s a hollow tap on the door followed by a tentative, “Jared?” It’s Sandy’s voice, probably coming to check why Mr. Early Riser himself hasn’t made an appearance yet, and for some irrational reason, that makes a whole other kind of heat flare in Jensen. Not like he doesn’t know nothing’s ever happened between them – nothing’s ever happened between Jared and anybody, evidently – but he still feels… fuck it, he feels jealous. He feels like yelling at Sandy to get her ass in here and see them, what he gets to have that she doesn’t, except for how he doesn’t really get to have it because Jared doesn’t have a clue what he’s doing right now. This whole friend thing may still set his alarm bells ringing, but if he’s going to do it, then he’s damn well going to be the best friend and if Sandy wants to fight him on it she can bring it the fuck on.

“Jay?” comes muffled through the door, slightly more concerned this time. Jared mumbles something incoherent against Jensen’s skin, turns halfway over so they’re chest to chest, his long leg flung over Jensen’s hip. Jensen slides his arm around Jared’s back, still trapped against Jared’s skin by his shirt, so steeped in the conflicting desire and contentment he doesn’t know what the fuck to do with himself.

He ends up sinking his teeth in, mounding up the flesh caught between them and sucking hard and desperate. There’s a tongue-in-a-light-socket flash of pleasure/pain/pleasure all of a sudden and he’s nowhere close to coming from the tiny bit of friction on his dick, but he does anyway; thick, ropey spurts of it painting the inside of his tangled jeans, brain flatlined around the goodrightyes.

The feel of his own breath shunting back at him off of Jared’s flesh and the bruising, very aware pressure of Jared’s fingers digging into his back pull him out of it a minute later. Jared’s chest is rocking hard against him, panic-fast breaths ruffling Jensen’s hair, and he can feel from where his thigh’s shoved up between Jared’s legs that the kid is maybe a little more than halfway to hard.

A big, screaming, neon sign flashing, break-out-the-brass-band part of him wants him to rub his leg up against that stiffness and get it all the way to where it needs to be, but there’s a pretty good chance that he just fucked up the best thing in his life – oh holy mother fucking shit, when the hell did Jared win that title? – because he couldn’t keep his libido to himself, so this probably aint the time to push it.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers to Jared’s clavicle, twice as desperate as he was a minute ago. If he’s ever meant those words more, he doesn’t remember it.

“It’s-“ Jared’s voice trembles out, “It’s ok. I just- I gotta. Jesus, Jensen.” For a barely there moment, Jared’s lips are pressed firmly to Jensen’s forehead, a hard little pop like a kiss as they disconnect when Jared rolls away. He doesn’t look at Jensen as he rushes to the bathroom and slams the door behind him, a muted thud after that sounds like Jared’s leaning up against it.

Jensen can’t understand the ache that’s nestled right underneath his ribs; whether it’s even his or if Jared’s pushing it out at him. All he knows is that he feels hollow lying on the bed by himself, Jared’s warmth and scent still permeating the sheets.

The mess in his jeans is cooling and gross now, but he’s lived with worse and he’s not really feeling entitled to borrow the shower at the moment so Jensen just makes himself deal with it and heaves up out of the bed. He pauses at the bathroom door anyway, stupidly laying a hand against the metal like it’ll make a difference.

“I really am sorry, man” he says so quietly he’s not even sure Jared could hear him. The words grate like broken glass in his throat from disuse.

“I know,” he gets from the other side of the door after a second, the sound thick and sad. “I really know.”

Jensen lets himself out, doing his damnedest not to look back. He fails miserably

***

Sandy finds Jared at lunch, which from the little he remembers of this morning prior to Jensen’s orgasm slamming through him like a nuclear explosion, is a minor miracle. He didn’t figure she could hold out this long.

Sandy’s a smart girl, a protective friend, and if she thought that something was wrong, she wouldn’t hesitate to check up on it. It still shocks the ever loving heck out of him when the first thing she casually spouts as she walks into their communal kitchen is, “How’s your boyfriend?”

Jared splutters, flecks of the chicken Caesar salad he’s munching on peppering the stainless steel counter top. Rosa, one of the cooks, gives him a hairy eyeball and swipes the mess away with a dishcloth.

“What?!” he finally manages to retort, voice slightly too high.

Sandy shakes her head, unrepentant for making Jared nearly choke to death on lettuce. “I checked the cameras, Jay, he showed up at your room last night, kissed you, and never left. I cleverly put together those oblique clues to figure it out.” She glares at him, not even bothering to lower her voice, as though she’s oblivious to the three other members of the staff standing around prepping for dinner and the fact that they can hear her – totally erroneous – accusations. All a return glare gets him is a sigh and a thunk on the head with the bottle of water she’s just retrieved from one of the fridges.

“I just wish you’d told me.” She hauls out the sad-eyes, always effective – he should know, he’s the one who taught them to her – but it’s the genuine twinge of hurt coming off of her that makes him duck his head.

“There’s nothing to tell,” he grumbles pointlessly to his croutons, picking around at them with his fork.

Sandy sighs again, her little hand reaching across the counter to lie over the top of his own. “Jay, seriously, did you think we’d care? We all know about Misha, and it’s hard not to know about Jensen; did you really think it would matter to any of us if you were gay?” Jared has to fight incredibly hard not to laugh out loud at that; it had never actually occurred to him that liking guys would even be an issue. “That’s, like, the best part about being a gene freak; you can do anything you want because no matter what it is, it still won’t be the most unusual thing about you – might as well embrace the freedom.”

Pretending not to know what she’s talking about is his first instinct – deny, deny, deny – but it doesn’t seem like a viable option at the moment with all of the evidence stacked against him.

“We’re not. It isn’t-“ he attempts lamely instead, although he can’t deny what it must look like to someone who doesn’t know the whole story. There’s really not an easy way to explain ‘Jensen wants to have sex with me, so he came and kissed me, but we can’t have sex because I can’t have sex for reasons that I can’t explain to you and I’m not even sure I want to have sex with Jensen anyway even though I kind of think I do which is just an even bigger problem but then I stupidly let him spend the night in my bed anyway and woke up with him sucking a hickey to my neck and getting off on my hip and now it’s all just confusing’. Really no easy way at all. Now Jared has a headache.

“Yeah, right,” Sandy waves the whole idea off with a flick of the wrist, fixing him with a patented ‘you are being an idiot’ stare. “Look, Jay, it’s not a big deal, we’re all happy for you. I mean, I don’t really get why you had to pick the most screwed up guy to ever walk through the doors to be your number one man, but he’s good for you.”

The screech Jared’s brain makes as it grinds to a halt at that may very well be audible.

“Come again?”

“Ever since, whatever it was that happened between you guys,” he gets a little flash of annoyance there; Sandy knows he’s holding out on her about his and Jensen’s little thought-sharing disaster, “you’ve been more chill; practically human.”

“Sandy-“

“Jared. I’m serious,” she flattens a petite hand to either side of his face, forcing him to look her dead in the eyes. “I love you and all and I know you care about me too, but even with me, it’s always been like you’re on edge; like a tank’s going to come crashing through the wall any second and you have to be prepared to defend us all.” Her voice drops down into a parody of a movie-announcer at the last part, face screwing into mock-determination like some bad action hero. It all falls away as she slumps, chin balanced on a fist and she smilingly imparts, “You’re like an actual person with Jensen around. It’s refreshing.”

A portion of him aches. He can’t even deny it’s true, he’s always been on his guard – not just with Sandy, but with everyone – he just hadn’t thought it had been so obvious. Or that any of that had changed with Jensen.

“We aren’t like that,” he says softly, not sure why saying that hurts even more.

“Then you should be,” Sandy nods firmly, though the skepticism he feels from her as well as the tilted eyebrow she’s directing at him make it clear how much she doubts his assertion. “We’re going to have to stick a lamp shade on Jensen’s head if he lights up any brighter when you walk in the room. It’d be sad if it wasn’t so sweet.”

Jared glances around at the staff, all of whom are blithely ignoring the conversation; all wrapped up in the kind of complacent boredom that he’s found tends to overtake people on the job. He doubts that any of them find his personal life that intriguing anyway.

“I don’t know how to be with somebody,” is absolutely not what he intended to say. At all. Life was a lot simpler before Jensen waltzed in and started reordering all of Jared’s carefully plotted arrangements – now it seems like he spend half of his time completely off-kilter.

“And you think Jensen does?” Sandy replies succinctly, mildly amused but with no tint of surprise at Jared’s all but unprompted admission. And, alright, she has a point there. Jensen’s likely just as clueless about… whatever it is they’re doing as he is. The bruise Jensen had sucked to his neck this morning seems to heat up suddenly and Jared viciously suppresses the impulse to tug his collar a little higher even though he knows it’s not showing.

Sandy laughs in the back of his throat, a little too smugly for Jared’s taste. ”You’ll figure it out, you’re smart boys. Most of the time.” She thunks him on the head one more time with her water bottle, as if that will somehow knock some non-existent sense about this messed up situation into Jared’s head. “Just don’t pass up something as good as this.”

With a wink, she’s gone. Jared spends a long time staring into his salad for answers.

***

Jensen feels slightly better that he’s not the only one gaping dumbly at Jeff as the screen in the wall behind him fades to black.

“Alright, I’ll bite,” Jensen jumps in after a minute of painful silence, “How do we capture a guy who stops time?”

“Technically, he doesn’t stop it, he just slows it down for everyone in his immediate vicinity,” Sandy points out. Her eyes do that creepy far-away thing like when she talking to the computers or whatever she does and the screen flutters back to life behind Jeff. The bank security video is playing again, this time in super slow-mo. Jensen watches the tellers this time instead of the guy waltzing around the counter, obviously expecting there to be cash just sitting out for him to grab – did he really think that would work? – and now that he’s looking for it, he can see the very minute shifts as people go through the motions of their lives, unawares.

It might be a really fucking awesome, actually, if it didn’t have a ten second time limit – as it stands, it’s kind of like having the ability to make really complex balloon animals or something; fun party trick, useless as fuck. The guy manages to vault over the teller’s counter empty handed just in time for the big slowdown to run out.

“His ability also seems to have a more subdued effect on other individuals with powers – to varying degrees – which should help in the process,” Jeff adds. The older man tosses a file folder onto the table where it skims over the smooth surface down to Jared’s seat. The kid flips it open, scanning through the pages quickly as Jeff fills the rest of the team in. Jensen maybe misses the very beginning of the speech when Jared starts worrying at his lower lips with his teeth. That’s totally not Jensen’s fault though – Jared has a very distracting mouth. “Lindberg’s been missing for a little over a month. Last his parents had spoken to him, he’d gotten involved in some kind anti-war movement. They said it was all he could talk about for a week or two leading up to his disappearance, and then he just dropped off the radar.”

“You’re thinking terrorism?” Misha asks with a dark kind of finality, his blue eyes never rising from the table. Tom hand covers most of Misha’s shoulder as he pats him reassuringly, but the smile the smaller man shoots at his partner is watery.

“It’s a definite possibility,” Jeff agrees gravely. “We don’t know exactly what the attempt on the bank was intended to accomplish, but we’ve got the location being monitored in case Lindberg returns. It’s fair to assume that if he is involved in some kind of underground group, they’re aware of his ability and he’s acting on their orders. Based on these efforts, it would seem that he hasn’t mastered his power enough to do any significant damage. We’d like to keep it that way.”

“I’m plugged in to every security camera in a thirty mile radius of the bank,” Sandy adds, eyes focusing somewhere else again. “as soon as I get a bead on the objective’s location, we’ll be ready to formulate a more cohesive plan.”

Jared nods at all of this and flips the folder closed. Without a second thought, Jensen drain the dregs of his coffee – cold and gross, but still coffee – and pushes back from the table as everyone else does the same. Jared accepted the information, and apparently that’s all Jensen’s subconscious needed to consider this over and done with. He’s going to choose not to consider how wildly codependent that sounds. Because he’s not like that. He’s just not. And he definitely doesn’t run to catch up with Jared when he realizes his partner walked out of the room without him. He just felt like a little cardio.

***

Jared holds up a little as he exits the building, letting the rush of Jensen’s emotions bear down on him until the shorter man is finally standing next to him. There’s a thrum of excitement prickling through his along with nerves and a powerful, itchy surge of curiosity. They’ve barely made it ten yards before Jensen’s whispering, “What was with Misha back there?”

Cursorily, Jared looks over his shoulder to check that the man in question isn’t within hearing range, though he can still feel Misha’s brooding quite a ways in the distance.

“He’s… sensitive about collateral damage,” Jared answers as tactfully as he can, trying to keep his own voice low. Still, it’s not really a secret, and Jensen deserves to know about the people he’s supposed to depend on, even the ugly stuff.

“Any kind of orchestrated attack using powers, kind of gets to him,” Jared carries on, trying to be as matter-of-fact as he can. “His abilities kicked in a little later than usual, when he was a teenager, and he developed kind of a demolition obsession. Mostly small stuff, building supplies, a couple of portable toilets, half of the high school football team’s field house.” He has to grin – even after all this time, Misha’s still proud of that one. “Anyway, total fluke thing, but he decided to prank the school principal, make his mailbox explode and at just the wrong time, this woman drives by, the mailbox blows and the shrapnel…”

He can feel the stunned, sympathetic pain Jensen feels – the kind of emotion Jared never would have credited him with two months ago. He wonders if Jensen would have even been capable of feeling it two months ago.

“Fuck,” is the only response his friend makes.

Without consciously considering it, Jared leads them down the hallway to his own room. Jensen’s been spending most of his nights here anyway – largely on the couch, though sometimes on the bed. They haven’t had a repeat of that first night, even though he can feel how much Jensen would like to. It’s taking a lot more energy than he’d care to admit not to give in.

“That’s how Misha ended up here,” Jared continues, for the distraction from his own line of thought as much as anything, “He turned himself over to the police, who, of course, didn’t believe him, and then we found him.”

Jensen throws himself down on the couch, back arching with sinuous grace on a stretch. Jared absolutely does not watch the way his shirt rides up to bare a thin strip of pale skin.

“Damn. Is anybody here by choice?” Jensen groans, lazily scratching the thin sprinkling of hair peeking over the waistband of his jeans

“Well, me, I guess,” Jared shrugs, “if you call that a choice. And Tom. Tom volunteered.”

That gets a bark of laughter out of Jensen as he sinks further into the cushions, making himself comfortable. “How do you volunteer?”

“He joined the army. They ran some medical tests and the rest is history.” Jared can feel himself smiling at the memory of the first time he met Tom, sitting in his parents’ kitchen with the blue checkerboard drapes and the chicken-shaped cookie jar, corn waving in the breeze out the window. “His parents are incredibly proud; you’ll get to meet them over Thanksgiving.”

Jensen pulls a face, somewhere between a sneer and a pout, plush lips sticking out in a way that makes Jared’s eyes linger a little too long. “Thanksgiving with the Wellings. Any chance I can pass?”

“Nope. Besides, it’s fun. They live out in the middle of nowhere on this big farm, make everybody call them Ma and Pa; it’s like stepping back in time.”

“You love that white picket fence crap, don’t you?” Jensen asks, but there’s a lot less bite to it that Jared’s expecting.

Jared tilts his head a little to the side, watching himself be watched. Wistful’s a funny feeling, and he never knows quite what to make of it for all the times he’s felt it. He envies Tom a little, having parents who’d keep his secret like that, try to protect him from the rest of the world, accepted him for what he is. The truth is, though, Jared’s finding more and more that he’s ok with his life now, and if he decides not to consider why that’s been happening more and more over the last few months, that’s his prerogative.

“I can see the appeal,” he admits finally, not pushing any farther than that. A quiet life like that is probably Jensen’s idea of hell.

“So Tom’s a farmboy boyscout, Misha’s a former demolition man, Sandy did the Robin Hood thing, and Chad…”

There’s no point even trying to fight his grin as he answers, “Ported backstage at a Victoria’s Secret fashion show.”

Jensen grins right back and sucks his teeth. “Naturally. One hell of a team you got here, Jared,” he teases no heat in it at all.

“I’m partial to them,” Jared smiles back.

Like a brick to the skull, it hits him; sharp and painful and completely inexorable – he’s flirting with Jensen. He’s flirting; Jared’s flirting. He didn’t even think he knew how to flirt and here he is, flirting with Jensen of all people; the most dangerous possible choice because Jensen might very well decide to do something about it.

Like he knows exactly what Jared’s thinking – and sometimes Jared would swear that Jensen does – his partner comes out with, “I want to make it up to you.” The whole charge of the air shifts in a split-second.

“What?”

“You’re first kiss,” Jensen explains unflinchingly, “I screwed it up. I wanna make it up to you.”

“Not going to happen.” Jared shakes his head, aimlessly wandering over to the other side of the room as if the extra space will shield him from the sheer power of Jensen with a goal.

“I mean it, just as kiss,” his friend urges, following him with his eyes, if not his body, “My word of honor.”

“You don’t have any honor.” He’s honestly curious at what point they became an old bickering couple. And when he started thing of them as a couple.

Jensen claps a hand over his heart, face stricken. “Hey, man, that hurts. True, but still. Anyway, if you’re going to be a fucking virgin for the rest of your life, you might as well have one really good kiss to fantasize about, right?”

“Your humility astounds be,” Jared replies flatly. And his mouth is not trying to quirk into a smile. It’s not – because this is not in any way funny.

“Bite me, bitch,” Jensen smirks in reply, “You got a better offer?”

Jared shakes his head, but he knows better than to think that Jensen will just give up at that. He doesn’t even need the self-assured aura pouring off of Jensen to know it.

“I don’t need this,” he argues instead. Something deep in the pit of his stomach says it’s a lie, but there’s no point in listening to it now; his body’s only ever gotten him into trouble anyway.

“Yeah, but you want it,” Jensen says with a level of smugness that makes Jared want to gnash his teeth. His partner shifts just a little on the couch, not going to get up just, arranging himself to do it later. It’s uncomfortably like those nature shows where you watch the lion prepare to spring on its unsuspecting prey. “Not gonna hurt anything, Jay,” Jensen reasons casually, like he’s got no stake in this at all despite the drum of want simmering under his skin, “I’ve already kissed you.”

Now Jensen moves, just a bare few feet, still plenty of space between them if Jared wants to move away. He’s not sure whether it’s more terrifying that he doesn’t want to or what will happen if he doesn’t do it anyway.

“C’mon,” he cajoles innocently, leaning the side of his head against the wall to look up at Jared through the weave of his eyelashes, “just one.”

Jared swallows hard, does it again when the first one does bring the refusal he’s looking for bubbling to the surface. He ends up choking out, “Fine.”

His gut clenches as soon as the word’s out; eyes slamming shut, lips pinched together in a hard, dry purse. Jensen’s laugh comes as a soft chuff of air too close to his mouth. It makes Jared jerk his head back, knocking it against dully against the wall as his eyes flutter open, startled.

“Dude, relax,” Jensen smiles from too close up. He places a reassuring hand on Jared’s chest which is largely not reassuring at all, and slowly slides it upward, all firm, smooth motions like he’s gentling a wild animal. The broad palm finally reaches Jared’s face and he knows his heart’s going to spit right out the front of his chest with how hard it’s beating but he can barely pay attention to either of those things because he’s got to concentrate on putting up the wall. Don’t push, don’t push, don’t lose yourself.

“Thirty seconds at least, otherwise it doesn’t count.” Jensen taps a finger against Jared’s lips, the muscles jolting a little under the unexpected touch.

“That doesn’t even make sense,” Jared slurs around the digit, keeping his lips pressed close together so his tongue doesn’t accidentally touch Jensen’s finger.

“Hey, who here knows more about kissing – me or you?” Jensen arches an eyebrow at him, “Yeah, that’s what I thought. Bitch.”

The nod Jared gives barely even counts as a motion but Jensen takes it for assent.

It’s like that moment back on the roof, that moment when they first touched; the seconds stretching out longer than they’re meant to, thin and thready as Jared’s breathing. Jensen just lingers a heartbeat away, the warm puff of air from his mouth clinging to Jared’s lips as he slides a thumb almost tenderly across them.

There’s something strange in the emotions throbbing like an over-worked vein under Jensen’s skin; anticipation, of course, and the inevitable smugness of getting his way, and something… something else. Jared’s reaching out for it with his mind before he has a chance to remember that he’s supposed to be blocking himself off. It’s buried under all of that darkness Jared’s grown used to feeling inside of the older boy, hardly even a flicker, but it’s there; warm and soft to the touch, clinging just little as Jared’s mind brushes against it.

It flares as Jensen’s lips meet his own and if Jared wasn’t already up against a wall he’d jolt back in surprise; he’d been too wrapped up in feeling out Jensen’s emotions to even notice that he’d moved.

At first it’s just the warm push of Jensen’s lips, sliding ever so gently against Jared’s; nothing at all like the first time. That time it had been relentless; bruising pressure and the sharpness of Jensen’s teeth, enough pain to keep Jared from even realizing what was happening. This is so much more gentle; silk-soft lips and this tiny wet-hot brush as they slide open, the delicate skin on the inside of them moistening Jared’s for the most tentative touch of Jensen’s tongue.

This… this is kissing. God, this is what it’s like to kiss someone and it’s so, so good.

Dimly, he can hear himself making little noises but he can’t pick apart what they are to be mortified by because every time he makes one that new thing inside of Jensen pulses a little hotter, a little brighter and he keeps getting caught up in it. His lips part under Jensen’s coaxing and the whole thing just gets deeper, wetter – better. No wonder people make such a big deal out of this.

It’s like his skin keeps getting smaller and smaller, but instead of being terrifying, it’s perfect; like even if he breaks apart, Jensen will be there to hold him together. It’s a ridiculous thought but that’s how it feels and he’s got too much rolling in right now to argue with it. He feels drugged, swallowed up and soaked in these sensations, these emotions, too much and not enough and God, that’s Jensen’s tongue. That’s Jensen’s tongue in his mouth; slick and clever, curling against his own, and damn if Jensen isn’t moaning right back, pouring all of these hot, deep little sounds into Jared.

He’s not sure when he got his hands up; one on the back of Jensen’s head, the other braced at the small of his back - not so much pushing for more as hanging on for dear life. Jensen’s got this, though; doesn’t really seem to need Jared to do much of anything besides slump limply against the wall. The smaller man presses Jared harder, slotting their bodies, their hips, together just so and-

Oh! Oh God!

Jared’s harder – literally – than he’s ever been in his life, and every tiny motion of Jensen’s body against him makes him positive he’s going to fly to pieces, break and scatter into nothingness like a lightning strike fading into black. He’s got veins full of warm syrup and lighter fluid, each hot press of Jensen’s hands through his clothes embedding in his skin, sparking something new to life. It’s like he’s swollen on the inside, every erratic pump of his heart forcing more and more blood to the surface where it pools and aches sweetly as he feeds off of Jensen’s mouth.

Jensen’s hip finds the firm length of his cock through his jeans, an all but incidental friction, and Jared’s knees give like they’ve been shot out from under him. It’s only clinging to Jensen that keeps him upright, years’ worth of conditioning blessedly taking over to lock down on the drive to come.

Stupid! Stupid! Too damn close, never should have let it happen, should have known better. Should have known he couldn’t handle it.

Jensen’s still holding tight when Jared breaks away, all but tumbling the other man to the ground in his hurry. Distance, he needs distance. His partner looks wrecked; hair a mess, green irises swallowed by his pupils, lips red and wet and even plumper than usual, parted as he gulps in loud draws of air.

“I’m sorry. So sorry,” Jared manages to gasp, halfway hiding himself in the far corner of the room, pawing at the wall like it’ll give some kind of stability for the disquieting, adrift feeling swimming through him.

“Why?” Jensen leers back breathlessly, breaking off on a groan as his hand travels down to rub hard at the obvious bulge in the front of his jeans. Desire hits him like a desert breeze, hot and unyielding. He can’t even be embarrassed by the whimper that bursts from his throat, too busy curling in on himself to try and abate the pounding of the blood swamping his dick.

“Stop. Stop, please.” He’s begging and he doesn’t even care because every brush of Jensen’s hand across his own skin seems to reverberate through Jared like a plucked string and he’s going to come and maybe kill them both if Jensen doesn’t knock it off right this second.

It may very well qualify as a minor miracle when Jensen’s hands flatten to the wall he’s using for support, the effort of it as apparent in the way he’s trembling as in the desperation flooding reciprocally through Jared.

“You could just let me-“ Jensen starts, eyes almost inhuman with how dark they are. Jared cuts him off with a sharp shake of his head, unable to focus enough to form words. He has to find the calm place in his head, he has to, but it’s like it’s just disappeared on him and he knows he’s still pushing. Too open, too wide open.

Jensen jerks a thumb at the door, head thrashing against the wall and his hands compulsively twitch, wanting to be back on his body. “Jay, I gotta…”

“Go,” Jared chokes out, words coming like razor-wire and sand, “It’s ok, just go.” Jensen nods jerkily, stumbling from the room lust-drunk and wild. Distantly Jared hopes that nobody sees him because it would be incredibly hard to explain. Right now he doesn’t even have the brain power to contemplate it, though, so instead he just buries his face against his knees and screams until his voice runs out.


	7. Chapter 7

Of course it all ends up going pear-shaped, because, really, has Jensen’s life ever gone any other way? Well, aside from his incredibly handy power and the superhero team and the kinda fun, kinda miserable whatever-it-is with Jared… but other than that, everything else has always sucked.

The explosions start going off the second they walk through the basement door. Luckily Chad was on point and ported out before anything got heavy, but it was still a close call. There are people scrambling everywhere, running like rats from a sinking ship – except for the ones who are on the ground. Guess it doesn’t pay to spend your time in a booby-trapped terrorist bunker - who’da thunk. Jensen at least puts forth the effort not to step on anybody.

It’s impossible to see through the acrid haze of smoke stinging his eyes but he doesn’t catch sight of the Lindberg guy. Then again, for all he knows, the guy already stopped time and booked his ass out of here.

Somewhere off to the left he can hear Misha shouting curses as he diffuses whatever explosives remain; he hasn’t given a warning yet, so Jensen walks a little further into the room, following the dark shape of Jared’s back. Up ahead is the meaty sound of fists on flesh, flesh on brick and an occasional bass grunt that sounds like Tom. So not everybody decided to make a break for it, huh? Bad plan.

Jensen cocks his tranq gun and puts on a little speed to keep up with Jared. It only takes a smidge more effort than it should to keep his hand at the ready instead of latching it onto Jared’s belt to make sure the kid doesn’t wander off and get himself hurt. Jared’s a big boy, he can take care of himself – and if he can’t well, that’s too bad for him. It’s not Jensen’s place to be his protector.

Jared startles when Jensen’s traitor of a hand grabs onto the back of his utility belt anyway. He always knew he liked his right hand better. The kid gives Jensen a sideways look but doesn’t say anything beyond a strongly-worded glare.

Actually, that’s one hell of a glare. Seriously, the kid hasn’t even blinked.

Oh. Shit.

There’s a movement somewhere behind Jared and for a moment Jensen can’t see what it is, just a shadow through the smoke. Jensen’s still moving, but it’s like trying to deep sea dive with a lifejacket on; his body and the air around him fighting every motion. He tries counting off the seconds in his head, planning his next move, but he’s not sure how long this has been going and the only thing he can really concentrate on is the figure he now recognizes standing in front of Jared.

Tom, stock-still, fist raised and intensity drawn in every line of his face. Tom, not even knowing that he’s been moved into position to punch the living daylights out of Jared.

Something – somebody – scurries past Jensen, a warm arm brushing his own, and the rush of anger that this little fucker is trying to play them against each other actually makes Jensen’s arm shoot out fast enough to hang onto him for a fraction of a second. The contact’s gone just as quick, though, and Jensen barely catches a glimpse of Lindberg’s terrified eyes before he disappears into the smoke.

It’s like whatever’s holding Jensen back unsticks a moment faster than it does everyone else, their movements going from stop-motion to slow-mo while Jensen hits regular speed like a bullet train. Over by the door Chad must have ported back in and from the way he’s cussing and calling out, it sounds like he’s doing ok with the slowdown too, but Jensen’s not worried about that now. He’s not worried about chasing after Lindberg – even though he’d like to wring that scrawny fucker’s chicken neck – or even about rescuing Jared, because there’s this whole other thing that just happened in his head, and he’s only got a synapse worth of time to decide.

What happened is just as he was about to lunge for Jared and knock him out of the way, his brain played back the video of them kissing at hyper-speed, zoomed back to the memory of the first time he kissed Jared, then back even further to that time on the roof when he’d closed that cut on Jared’s scalp. With his tongue. How there’s no way Jared’s ever going to kiss him again because the kid’s so damn hung up on not hurting Jensen he doesn’t get that this dance they’re doing is fucking killing him. How even Jared couldn’t argue away the need to heal a wound.

Jensen’s feet skid on the detritus-strewn pavement as the world catches up with him, everything moving back to normal speed like it never stopped and for just that one necessary millisecond, Jensen holds back.

His thighs scream with the force he uses to knock Jared out of the way of Tom’s pummeling blow, but that’s nothing compared to the pain exploding through his torso as he takes the hit on the left side of his body, ribs snapping like twigs under the strength of it, and the flash-fire worry that just the force of his body slamming into Jared’s is going to do more damage than he intended.

Jared’s breath blasts against his ear as he lands partway on top of the kid, the flesh under his elbow giving just the smallest bit as he hits – nothing put on or added on his part; Tom’s a hell of a lot stronger than Jensen was giving him credit for – just a fracture, not a break. Good.

Jared slides out from under him immediately, scrambling up to paw at Jensen’s front to try and check for injuries. It just makes the pain worse, but he can’t exactly begrudge that, under the circumstances. The kid’s staring down at him with these shiny, scared eyes – looks so fucking young – like he doesn’t know that Jensen’s body is already piecing itself back together. Tom’s leaning over him too, looking just as scared, babbling something that might be an apology, but all Jensen can see is Jared’s eyes fading from frightened to relieved as Jensen’s breaths quit rattling with blood. He wonders how long it’s going to take before he can stand to look at his own reflection – it’s been a long damn time since he did something that made him feel disgusted with himself.

Misha’s reporting in to Sandy that all of the explosives on site have been diffused by the time Jensen’s able to get up off of the floor. Jared extends a hand to help him up and does an almost completely believably impression of not wincing in pain at the movement. Jensen’s stomach does a nosedive; wonder if Jared’s confused about all the guilt Jensen’s floundering in.

Chad’s porting in and out, almost soundless except for the noise of his feet on the littered floor and the groans of the injured he’s discreetly dropping off at some hospital ER. Tom’s just kind of hovering, touching the very tips of his fingers against Jensen’s shoulder like an act of contrition even though Jensen knows perfectly well that the guy can control his strength.

“I’m fine man,” his voice is only a little wheezy, the burn of broken bones fading as he slaps Tom reassuringly on the chest, “Not your fault.”

Jared smiles at him, all proud again, and Jensen hates himself a tiny bit extra. It’s for the kid’s own good, he keeps telling himself, he doesn’t have to live like this forever, not when Jensen can make it better. He doesn’t have to be afraid, Jensen can take it; he just has to show Jared. Just this once.

***

“How bad is it?” Jensen asks, faithfully following Jared into his room.

Jared takes a breath to chide Jensen’s over-protectiveness – there’s really no reason for him to feel so freaking guilty; it was an accident – ends up losing it on the sharp punch of pain that the movement ignites in his chest. Of course, Jensen notices.

“Uh-huh,” he says flatly, grabbing Jared by the elbow to steer him toward the bed, “Come on, tough stuff, Daddy’ll take care of you.”

“Did you just-“ Jared has to break off the sentence to take another breath, but he manages to keep his pained grunt to minimum, “-refer to yourself as my ‘Daddy’?”

Now that the adrenaline’s gone, this actually hurts a lot worse than it did earlier. He takes a moment for silent awe at how much worse it must have been for Jensen, even if it only lasted for a minute. He has to shakes his head to get rid of the image of Jensen lying on the floor, lips bloody from the inside out, uniform hanging limply like a teddy bear without it’s stuffing over what had to have been badly crushed ribs. And it could very easily have been Jared instead.

Jensen rolls his eyes; deftly plucking at the hidden catches on Jared’s uniform so that the upper half loosens. It’s a relief to have lost the constant pressure against his chest, but now his range of motion is greater on each breath, which only makes the flares of ache more noticeable.

“It’s just an expression, Jay. You’re the one going and making it all kinky, repressed motherfucker.” Jensen’s very careful as he skins the rubber-synth away from Jared’s body and Jared lets him; he’s really not up to fighting for the right to undress himself at the moment – the less he has to move the better.

“I think other people have to say it in order for it to be considered an expression,” he retorts, voice cutting out partway through as the kiss of cool air on his sweaty torso makes him draw in an unintentionally sharp breath. He hadn’t bothered to turn on the lights on the way in, but even in the blue moonlight filtering through the window he can see the dark mottle of bruises bursting to life along his side.

Gently, Jensen urges him down of the bed, hanging on to Jared’s unmarred side to help ease him to the mattress.

“What’re you…”

Jensen narrows his eyes at him, dark little glimmers in the night punctuating another flash of unnecessary remorse. “Said I’d take care of you. Magic spit, remember?”

Jared doesn’t get much of an opportunity to consider that, because by the time it’s wormed its way into his brain, Jensen’s already straddling his hips, the motion of the mattress jarring his side and making him hiss – which in turn pulls on his ribs and makes him hiss louder. He’s barely gotten control over his breathing again before he registers the soft brush of Jensen’s lips against his own.

Jared jerks backward into the give of the pillow propped under him, chest violently protesting the motion.

Jensen hangs his head, sighing heavily, but he ends up answering Jared’s startled query before he even gets a chance to ask. “It’s your ribs, numb nuts. I can’t exactly lick them better, can I? You gotta swallow it. I can spit in your mouth, if you want. Or, uh, something else…” He wags his eyebrows suggestively, hand sliding down over his own uniformed torso to palm the slight bulge of his soft dick. Jared’s almost inclined to commend Jensen for still being soft, given the position, but then he realizes how messed up that is and decides against it.

“Ech!” he grimaces instead, stomach turning over on some emotion he categorically refuses to define at the thought of swallowing… that.

“God, you’re whiny,” Jensen glares, looking slightly ridiculous with his fists propped girlishly on his hips. “You know I’m not offering this special service to just anybody; you should feel privileged.”

“However will I contain my joy?” he snarks right back, “And, by the way, you could help other people, too. I’m not the only one who got hurt tonight.”

There’s something just this side of natural about Jensen’s smile, the pull of it a little strained around the edges. “Yeah, but you’re my favoritest. And it’s supposed to be a secret remember? Now shut up and suck my tongue.”

The way Jensen leans in brooks no arguments, all ‘for your own good’ intent, but Jared just has to take the time to mumble back, “You’ve been dying to say that, haven’t you?”

A soft vibration shoots through him as Jensen chuckles, almost, but not quite uncomfortable. “Baby, you have no idea.”

Then Jensen’s tongue is in his mouth, just in there, like it has a right to be or something and Jared’s back in that place where he can’t find his center, where it’s all just too open, too much. He can’t pull back though, because there’s nowhere to pull back to and he’s not exactly in a condition to battle Jensen on the point anyway, which, when he realizes it, is mildly unsettling. Jensen can pretty much do whatever he feels like at the moment and short of pushing something truly horrible onto his emotion-center – a thought that reflexively makes Jared feel nauseous – there wouldn’t be much he could do about it.

But Jensen’s not really forcing anything – aside from the obvious tongue-in-mouth situation – just sort of sitting there like this is all a messed up business arrangement and Jared’s suddenly hit by how much like a business arrangement this might be for Jensen; how much more he’s allowed other people to do to him with even less feeling behind it. The thought cranks that nauseous feeling up a couple dozen notches along with an acid-burn pulse of something unnervingly like possessiveness and Jared decides it’s best if he stops thinking now and just gets this over with.

Jensen makes a quiet sound as Jared starts sucking, doing his level best to ignore that way Jensen’s tongue feels, or how smooth and hot the inside of Jensen’s cheeks are when he works his way into the other man’s mouth and focusing instead on the little twinges that herald each new breath and the slow-burning pain ballooning in his chest.

The ache steadily increases from dull waves, to a constant, sharp crackling along his nerves. For all Jared can tell his lungs have caught on fire, every breath hurting worse than the one before until he can feel the trickle of moisture at the corners of his eyes. Reflex has him pulling away, disentangling his tongue from Jensen’s to try and douse the flame with more cool air, but Jensen’s hand firms on his jaw.

“Shh, almost there. Just a little more,” gets smeared damply into his skin as Jensen recaptures his mouth, gingerly testing Jared’s ribs with one hand while he’s busy coaxing Jared back into the same motion they had a moment ago with his teasing tongue. The hurt flashes through him again almost instantly, every other sensation disappearing under the weight of it so that he’s writhing and flailing, Jensen only just keeping him pinned.

The pain fades faster than it built; mellowing out quickly enough that his chest is still heaving with harsh breaths by the time it’s over, his body braced against the lingering phantom of it. Except all of that is getting washed away by a whole other sensation as Jensen keeps kissing him right through the fade, his hips working in torturously slow circles over Jared’s undeniably hard cock. Damn Jensen and his stupid healing spit.

“Jensen, you have to stop,” ends up more than a little bit choked, especially when Jensen just growls and kisses him harder. It would help if his own god forsaken body wasn’t betraying him by falling into rhythm with the dirty grind Jensen’s set up. Or if it didn’t feel so damn good.

They had been too close the last time, too damn close to it all blowing up in their faces. For most people that would be enough reason to back off – the whole potential irrevocable injury thing – but no, not Jensen, because apparently Jensen has a death wish. Actually, he’s not sure why that surprises him.

That’s when it keys in how Jensen’s guilt keeps dipping and peaking, how he’s never actually felt Jensen feel guilty about anything; the way it’s fading out now under a strange brand of desperation-rimmed satisfaction.

“You did it on purpose, didn’t you?” he whispers against Jensen’s mouth as the thought occurs, “You let me get hurt just so you could do this.”

Jensen barks a laugh that has nothing to do with amusement. “Get over yourself. Like you’re so hot. Don’t need you.” He still doesn’t stop grinding.

“Good, then we’re even,” he scoffs back. It’s the kind of intentionally injurious thing he almost never says, because it’s too easy to push somebody’s buttons when you can feel right where they are. It’s the kind of thing he just can seem to stop himself from spouting around Jensen half the time. The second-hand swell of hurt from it makes his eyes want to water again, but just as fast it gets swallowed up by wrath and Jensen torques his hips a little rougher, a little better, so Jared catches himself keening at the sweetness of it.

“That’s enough,” Jared grits out through his teeth. It’s no mean feat in this position, but Jared’s got years of practice under his belt, and for some reason Jensen still doesn’t seem to expect Jared to actually contest this, so he executes a roll-turn-shove maneuver that dislodges Jensen from his hips and gets him sprawled out over the floor instead.

His stunned expression in those dark green eyes dissolves quickly into anger, the flavor of it sharpened by iron-cold betrayal as Jensen immediately launches himself back at Jared, a snarl marring his pretty face. Under another circumstance, Jared would actually be impressed at the quick reaction-time, but now he’s got more important things to deal with.

Jensen’s nails dig in as he tries to get a grip on Jared, moving with it fluidly when Jared switches the momentum to send them rolling across the mattress, a hot trail of gouges burning into his right shoulder. His partner sputters something along the lines of ‘fucking asshole’ as they tumble off of the bed, but Jared’s hardly paying attention to his usual eloquent soliloquies.

The wind gets knocked out of him briefly as he takes the brunt of Jensen’s weight on the fall and the other man uses it to his advantage to knee Jared’s legs apart and grind punishingly against the persistent hardness of his cock. Jared traps Jensen’s legs between his own – pointedly ignoring the way his dick still seems perfectly happy with the situation even as Jensen rubs against it far too hard – and flips them again, his shin crashing down against the bulge of Jensen’s groin. The armor on the suit is thicker there, designed to act like a cup, but it still hurts like heck to take a direct hit – Jared knows all too well – and a too-high noise gets punched out of Jensen’s throat with it. To his credit, Jensen doesn’t give up at that, even if his movements are a bit more stilted as he wrestles against the lock Jared tries to get on his arms.

His anger is near-rabid, burning so hot over a deep pit of confused hurt that Jared would swear the temperature in the room has climbed ten degrees. It makes it hard to focus, to keep his moves smart, detached, and he’s just going to assume that’s the reason he lets his guard down enough for Jensen to clock him one right on the jaw. His partner’s surge of bloody-edged victory clashes roughly with his own self-recrimination as the cold floor slams into his back, Jensen’s warm weight into his chest.

“You fuck,” Jensen grits out against Jared’s throat in a voice he barely recognizes. “You fucking fuck!” The only reply Jared can make is a grunt as Jensen’s fist slams powerfully into his newly healed ribs. His teeth are a blunt sting at Jared’s neck, just gnawing at the flesh there as his hips roll savagely against Jared’s, both of them still noticeably hard despite the wave upon wave of self-loathing dripping off of Jensen like tar-thick sweat.

“Damn, masochistic idiot!” Jared growls back, twisting and shoving against Jensen’s grip, “What am I supposed to do? Just hope that maybe it won’t kill you?”

Jensen lunges up, face so close to Jared’s that he can barely make out the rictus of rage it’s contorted into. “You’re supposed to want me!”

The words reverberate through Jared like a tuning fork, each syllable a deafening gong inside his head that all but drowns out the actual sound of Jensen’s voice. The noise nestles down in his marrow, the frozen ache setting up house around the overused, worn-thin thought. Jensen’s thought. He heard Jensen’s thought.

Jared’s not sure how long he’s been laying there staring blankly at the ceiling by the time he realizes that Jensen’s not on top of him anymore.

He aches all over as he pushes himself up to a sitting position, and he wonders how much of that’s the fight, and how much is those words still slinking through his bloodstream like a virus. You’re supposed to want me.

Jensen’s uniform remains impeccable, highlighting each thick jut of muscle, adding authority to it. He looks every inch the action hero Jared knows his partner imagines himself to be most of the time, even sitting on the floor at the end of the bed, trying to curl in on himself and disappear. Or he would look like that, to anybody who couldn’t feel the way he’s trembling from the inside out, too raw and broken open all of a sudden to do anything beyond struggle for air. To Jared he just looks small.

Every movement hurts, but it’s even worse to sit over there and not do anything about the icy throb shooting along the connection between them that Jared can’t seem to make himself shut down. Jensen flinches when Jared’s fingers touch the clammy back of his neck, tries to shy away, but Jared just tightens his hold and pulls and Jensen lets him. He sits stiffly in the circle of Jared’s arms, stubbornly refusing to let out a sound even though Jared can feel the hitches of his chest, the wetness on his cheek against his own sweat-sheened sternum.

“Why do you do this to me?” Jensen rasps after a while, voice tight as though it’s going to shut down on him any second. “’M not like this. Not supposed to be like this. How do you fuck me up so bad?”

“I know the feeling,” is the best answer Jared’s got, which isn’t really one at all, but at least it’s true. He rests his head on the top of Jensen’s, silky hair matted down with half-dry perspiration and smoke-tainted dust against his cheek. They stay like that until their breathing has evened out and Jared’s knees have started to twinge in protest.

“Come on,” Jared murmurs gently, after what seems like hours, “Let’s go to bed.” He strokes the backs of his knuckles down the nape of Jensen’s neck and the other man leans slightly into the touch. Sometimes he questions whether Jensen realizes how touch-hungry he is; if it’s just all the sex that’s gotten him conditioned that way or some baser need. Most of the time now he figures it doesn’t matter.

Jensen gets to his feet slowly at Jared’s urging, stands the like a zombie as Jared undoes his boots, lifting his feet docilely at the appropriate times so Jared can take them off. Same story with the top of his uniform, the material peeling away to reveal pale, sticky skin; not a mark on any of the ridges of muscle or firm planes to suggest how much harm has come to this body over the years.

He doesn’t really plan on laying a soft kiss to the tender expanse of Jensen’s belly, nuzzling the damp flash, but all Jensen does is shiver slightly, the muscles under Jared’s lips jumping ticklishly. From the self-sick, broken ache brushing against him, he’s not sure there’s anything Jensen wouldn’t let him do right now.

Jared hates the way his mouth goes dry and his pulse skitters as he strips Jensen’s pants as well. No underwear there to play at modesty, not that it’s a surprise – Jared doesn’t wear any under his uniform either; too tight a fit. As much as he tries to ignore it, he can’t remain completely oblivious to the way Jensen’s cock – soft now; maybe from whatever Jared almost certainly pushed on him when he heard Jensen’s thought, maybe from the thought itself – twitches slightly at the proximity. Jensen doesn’t do anything about that either, aside from surge with an aimless, dull stab of injustice; just lifts each foot in turn to let Jared remove his pants, leaving him standing there in the indigo half-light, utterly exposed.

“I’m so sorry,” he mumbles, laying his forehead against the thin, prickly hairs of Jensen’s bare thigh. He palms the back of it and tries to decide what the end of that sentence was meant to be. That I’m like this. That you’re like this. That there’s never been another decent human being in your life. That I’m too messed up to be what you need. That I really do want you. That you can’t see that.

“So sorry,” he ends up repeating, pressing another chaste kiss to Jensen’s leg.

Thick fingers tangle in his hair, pulling just slightly; just enough to get Jared up off of his aching knees.

Jensen’s face is a blank slate when Jared drags his eyes to it, nothing but the couple hundred spark-quick emotions flittering through Jensen to prove that he even knows what’s going on. He leans up just enough to lave his tongue over the split Jared didn’t even realize he had in his lip until just now; the cut stinging and itching impossibly for a moment before it’s just gone.

It all feels too dull, though, too grey and hopeless to be Jensen – Jensen who’s always planning and scheming and working his way up to something more. This is like a washed-out version and that, maybe more than any of the rest of it, makes Jared want to scoop his friend up and somehow make it better.

Jensen’s fingers slide smoothly down the front of Jared’s chest, hesitating as they reach his hips and find the catch on his pants. Jared doesn’t make a move to stop him.

At this angle, with how tightly they fit, Jensen can’t get the fabric down further than mid-thigh without moving, so he just leaves them bunched awkwardly above Jared’s knees, staring down into the small, over-warm space between them. Jared went soft somewhere along the way too, but it’s not his dick that Jensen’s fingers play over, even if he’s pretty certain it’s what Jensen’s looking at. Instead, his partner’s just tracing non-sense patters into the thin skin over his hip, little touches at raise goosebumps all along Jared’s body.

“You really think I can’t hurt you,” he says, palming the back of Jensen’s neck. There’s no point in making it a question.

Jensen lifts a shoulder in response like a lack-luster shrug. “Nothing’s killed me yet.” His breath ghosts over Jared’s collar bone like a promise Jensen isn’t making – one he would be making under any other circumstance - and Jared can’t keep himself from tilting into it a bit.

“Me either,” Jared sighs back, lips trying valiantly to turn up into a smile that never quite makes it. “Doesn’t mean nothing can.”

Jensen’s reply is a gusty exhale and a tepid longing that highlights all that dark, empty space inside again. “Might be worth it.”

That actually does get a soft laugh out of Jared - it’s just so Jensen; so much of a relief to feel something natural from him. He stops fighting the impulse to pull his friend in close and just does it, breath stopping up for a second at the momentary overload of all that skin against his own.

“We need to get you hobby,” he only half-jokes as Jensen’s arms slide easily around his waist.

“I kinda like the one I got,” Jensen muffles back against Jared’s chest. He kisses the spot; tentative in a way he almost never is, thumb stroking up and down the knobs of Jared’s spine. The weight of Jensen’s cock is back to half-hard against him, velvety skin caressing against his own where his is also trying to rise to the occasion.

He can feel Jensen’s nervousness, the quivering lukewarmth of it acute through what feels like miles and miles of skin pressed to him. All of those funny little complexities to Jensen’s emotions seem clearer like this; how the worry there is about how nervous he is – it’s probably been a long time since Jensen was nervous about touching someone – how the want and the fear and the self-aimed disgust are all mixed up together in a way that’s confusing even to Jensen; how that soft, warm brightness hidden deep inside pulses faintly in time to his heartbeat. It’s the most bizarrely intimate thing Jared’s ever felt in a lifetime of bizarre intimacy. He can’t seem to decide if he likes it or not.

Practically reading his mind – is he pushing that much? – Jensen asks, “Is it too much like this? The touching?”

“Yes,” Jared says, not pulling away from the gentle hold he has around Jensen’s shoulders. “And no. It’s different.”

Jensen nods like he understands. Maybe he does.

“It used to make me feel sick, touching you,” Jared confides. He tries to soothe away the bite of the admission with a kiss to Jensen’s temple, but the other man’s finger still halt on his skin. “Back at first, when I was trying so hard to stay away from you. That was why.” The next bit comes out as barely a breath, words he’s hardly even let himself acknowledge in the supposed privacy of his own mind. “Now sometimes I don’t feel right unless I am touching you.”

Jensen chuffs a breath against his skin, pale attempt at a laugh, and teases, “Been reading too many of Sandy’s romance novels.” That doesn’t keep Jared from feeling every ounce of the warm ache that wells up inside of his partner.

“Says the guy who watches soap operas,” he kids back, tightening his hold just a little. Jensen’s swollen length brushes against his own with a shimmering jolt of pleasure and Jared’s pretty sure the click of his dry throat working must have been audible all the way down the hall.

Jensen’s hips shift just slightly, touching them together again just enough to make it clear the motion was on purpose.

“Tell me to stop and I will,” he whispers. Jared can hardly hear it over the rush of blood in his ears, matching the bloom of heat in his gut. He doesn’t say a word.

Jensen makes another barely-there movement, a subtle rock of his hips that makes their cocks slide against one another again. It’s taking everything Jared has just to stand here and take it. If Jensen can try, so can he – and he’ll pull back the second he feels anything amiss.

There’s not much amiss to feel though - Jensen feels safe here, so safe that it births the fear inside of him, not the idea of what Jared could do, can do, has done. Jensen’s not afraid to bear the brunt of it, a kind of absolute trust in Jared that makes the other man want to run screaming for the hills but instead he’s just clinging tight, rubbing up against Jared a little harder. Because as much as he’s afraid of how this feels – as much as he has to know Jared’s afraid of it – he wants it too; the desire, no, the need for it like a living thing inside of him. And Jared can’t deny that it’s right there inside himself too.

Jensen’s hand on his back slips lower, down to palm the meat of his ass and pull Jared into it as he bucks a little harder. His mouth is hot and wet against Jared’s skin, the heat of his tongue lapping up the remainder of sweat in the dip of Jared’s throat indistinguishable from the gusts of body-hot air he’s panting out. Jared’s just trying to ride through it, the urge to yell ‘stop’ in perfect counterpoint to the impulse to beg Jensen to keep going forever. His head lolls back on his shoulders, mouth open to drag in ever deeper pulls of what’s supposed to be oxygen, but there’s not enough of it – not enough air in the room, not enough air in the air to feed his burning lungs.

Jensen’s teeth drag along his neck, just enough to make him feel like a live wire stripped of its coating. His partner’s moaning against him; fiery tendrils of the bliss Jared’s feeling stretching out and feeding into Jensen, waves of his friend’s bouncing back at him on an infinity loop, building and building, too high, too fast. Jared can feel his balls draw up tight, the sensation so alien after all of this time, but he knows what it means. He tried to eke out ‘stop’, to plead and thrash and abate the tide of lust-cut panic flooding him but it just comes out as “Jensen”.

A honey-sweet hit of pleasure sweeps Jensen as soon as Jared says it, echoing back on Jared himself, back and forth, back and forth and then it doesn’t matter what else he might have to say because that not-enough air in his lungs ignites and he couldn’t make a sound to save his life.

It strikes like a gunshot to the spine, exploding at the very base and rocketing out through his limbs until he feels like he has to be glowing with it, like even the ends of his hair are pulling in sensation. His knees buckle and he feels them both falling but he hasn’t got a clue where they land, if they land, his entire being focused on the way his muscles systematically lock at the peak of each flush of ecstasy. Nothing else, nothing but that hot, cold, hot, cold, buzzing out into a nameless feeling that he never wants to come down from, ever.

Turns out they landed on the bed, or at least mostly; their legs are still spasming coltishly against the floor while the mattress takes most of their weight. How long it takes him to remember what that pillowy thing underneath him is called is not a fact he’s particularly proud of. His stomach is covered in rapidly cooling fluid and a warm mess of writhing muscle that is Jensen.

Jensen. Oh crap!

“Jensen!” he gasps, about as loud a noise as he can manage at the moment, considering the still limited amount of air threading into his heaving chest and the fact that his brain’s entirely too stupid right now to come up with anything else. Jared clasps his hands on either side of his friend’s face, forcing him to look up and meet Jared’s eyes. Jensen’s pupils are blown so wide that for a second Jared would swear that’s all there is to them. Then his lids flutter just a bit, blink a couple of compulsive strokes and he can finally see the faintest lick of green around the outside like a sucked-thin lime Lifesaver.

Jared can’t stem the fear roaring through him like a hurricane, not even with the hazy, drugged-out bliss radiating from Jensen. The way the other man lunges for him mouth helps, teeth knocking painfully before he’s practically choking on Jensen’s tongue and the wealth of whimpers and groans and pleasure sounds so exaggerated he’d think Jensen was putting it on, except for how he can feel that he’s not.

He’s rubbing up against Jared still; soft, sticky cock – like, God, like, Jensen actually came when Jared did; like maybe Jared made him – thickening back up fast. Hmm, guess there’s another side effect of a healing power; extra-fast recovery time. And apparently, the same goes for anybody with a mouthful of Jensen’s wonder-saliva because damn if Jared’s isn’t trying to do the same. Either that or it’s decided to make up for the years of neglect.

“Again!” Jensen huffs out, a manic kind of glee glinting in his too-wide eyes. Jared doesn’t get to answer before Jensen’s diving right back in again, rubbing up against Jared like a cat in heat. Jared’s dick jumps happily, fully on board with the proposed ‘again’ but Jared tells it to shut up. It’s not precisely effective.

“Wait, wait!” he manages to stutter out against Jensen’s coherency-stealing kisses, “Just wait!”

Jensen whines as Jared arches his face out of reach, planting a hand on his partners chest to forcing Jensen to actually stop and freaking look at him. Aside from the slightly loopy grin plastered all over his glistening lips, he seems to be ok. Still...

“What’s 7 times 8?” he prods, refusing to relent when Jensen grumbles and tries to dive back for his mouth again. “Jensen, I’m serious. 7 times 8?”

“Man, I don’t know! I suck at math!” Jensen cries, straddling Jared hips in an incredibly distracting way. It’s still not enough to kill to cold dread hollowing out his stomach. Oh God, he messed him up. He broke Jensen. He-

“Dude, I have always sucked at math!” his friend cuts him off mid- mental tirade, “I got held back in fifth grade because of it. I’m fine, I swear. Now can we please... I’d really like to get you inside me now.”

Wow, evidently Jared had it all wrong – he did not break Jensen, Jensen just broke him because there is absolutely no way he is ever going to recover from that mental image.

“So, you’re- I mean, you didn’t-” Jared breaks off halfway through the thought, slamming his eyes shut to help concentrate on feeling out further and further into the facility to see if anyone else was affected. It’s harder than he thought it would be - he rarely stretches his power like this - but… no, nothing. Just all of the ordinary, everyday feelings he’d expect to sense after a mission. Like nothing exceptional just happened.

He gets pulled out of his almost-trance with a yelp as something hot and wet engulfs his cock, the sensation as heavenly as it is shocking.

“That’s more like it,” Jensen smirks wiping his lips with the back of his hand, “A little attention if you don’t mind.” Did he… was that… did he just…. Oh God! Jared whimpers, hips squirming automatically at the very idea of Jensen’s mouth doing… that.

“Jensen, wait,” comes out a little too high as he plants a hand in the middle of his partners chest again, halting him from leaning over and… yeah. Jared’s dick feels like it’s trying to attack from the inside out in retaliation.

Jensen fixes him with a perturbed expression, but he’s looking a lot more like the guy Jared’s used to. His world is officially teetering on its axis.

“So you’re really ok?” His fingers trace over Jensen’s cheekbone, the smattering of freckles he can’t really make out in this light.

“Yes, I’m fine,” Jensen says exasperatedly. It doesn’t match the way that bright spot inside of him swells at the question or the smile tilting the corners of his lips. “I’m really fine. You could make, like, a million dollars renting yourself out, man. That was… Jesus!”

Jensen finally flops sideways on the bed, still very much in ‘giant kitten’ mode if the way he sort of shimmies against the covers is anything to go by. It’s sort of adorable.

Jared finds he’s disappointed and relieved in equal measure. Appealing as the idea of being inside of Jensen is to his cock – he can’t even fully wrap his head around the concept; he’s not even sure he can handle that mouth thing – this is all really, really fast. He’d kind of like some time to come to grips with the fact that one of the things he’s spent literally years dreading the very concept of has just happened and everything’s still alright.

“I’m not sharing, by the way,” Jensen says lazily after a minute, turning over to help Jared inchworm his way fully onto the bed. Jared’s confused look must be question enough – or maybe he felt the confusion; Jared still can’t seem to shut the link between them down, but that’s something to freak out about when he doesn’t have Jensen’s sated delight rippling through him and his body’s not busy telling him it’s time to hibernate – because Jensen adds, “The renting yourself out thing. I did not just find the best high ever known to man just to let everybody else in on it. You’re totally mine.”

There’s an odd little heat that floods him at the tacit claim. It doesn’t really make any sense, and he’s not even sure which one of them it came from, but then again, virtually nothing about tonight is making any kind of sense at all, so he’s not sure why he’s surprised.

Jensen curls into him, one leg thrown over Jared’s hips, his head nestled on Jared’s shoulder. It’s kind of a nice feeling. Would be even better if he didn’t still have his pants bunched around his knees and his boots on, but he absolutely fails to have the energy to do anything about either of those. Also, he’s still kind of sticky – from come, his evidently one-track mind helpfully supplies – but again, that would require moving, and for the moment, this is far too nice.


	8. Chapter 8

‘Slow’ is Jensen's least favorite word in the world - up to and including languages he doesn't know. Slow sucks; or, you know, doesn't, which is kind of the issue. And it's not even that Jensen minds not being sucked - which he does mind, but he also gets that giving head might be a little out of Jared's depth, considering he only just discovered what his dick is for - but Jared won't even let him do the sucking either, which is just downright insulting; Jensen's good at it, damnit. Hell, it's not even just the sucking; Jared won't let him do anything new, practically makes him beg to do the couple of things they've already done and then has the audacity to act put out by it!

He keeps saying that Jensen's obsessed - alright, maybe a little, but that thing with Jared's power feels fucking amazing! – and besides, Jared's the one who sits around giving him signals all the damn time. Like, they'll be sitting on the couch, watching the soaps - which Jared is totally into, no matter what he claims - and he'll put his arm around Jensen's shoulders, maybe start stroking over his collar bone with a thumb. Now that's about as clear a come on as Jensen's ever seen, but when tries to go and do something about it, Jared just stares at him like he grew a second head or something. It's fucking ridiculous and also seriously frustrating for his poor, turned around cock.

On the other hand, Jared makes a very persuasive argument with the tickle thing he does with his tongue – Jensen’s not sure where the kid picked it up since that is definitely not one of his own moves, but he’s not about to complain. Jensen forgets exactly what that persuasive argument is for, but it’s very, very persuasive.

They’re sprawled out across Jared’s wrecked sheets, the white-gold sunlight filtering in through the drapes saying it’s already close to noon. It has to have been at least half an hour since they woke up, Jensen using the admittedly lame excuse of the couple of bruises he’d left on Jay in the training session yesterday – because he’s an awesome fighter and can totally occasionally punch Jared now – to get his tongue in his partner’s mouth before he could start to think about stupid things like going for a run, or do work or something. The kid’s gotta learn to relax.

Kissing has always been fine, whatever, something to do before you work up to the main event. With Jared, though, kissing seems like it is the main event and with how much effort the kid puts into it, he could very well win the gold. And the silver and bronze.

Jensen guesses he can’t blame Jared – if his dreams had been anything to go by, he’d been hung up on the idea of getting his mouth on somebody else’s for half a decade; and yes, he is quite proud of himself at how much more… creative Jared’s dreams have gotten in the last few weeks, even if he can’t get the kid to actually go for any of it in real life. It’s not just technique thing, with the kissing, though Jared has proven to be a damn fast learner. It’s more about how just the touch of mouths and tongues and warm breath makes Jared, and in turn, Jensen, feel; like the whole world just turned soft and fuzzy-edged and nothing bad could possibly happen.

Jared has some kind of theory that the reason nobody else has been affected by the stuff they’ve done together is because the contact lets him focus his pushing all onto Jensen, which… yeah, whatever, like he cares. All Jensen really needs to know is that when he nips at Jared’s top lip and then swipes his tongue into that little channel between lip and teeth and makes Jared groan, his own insides go liquid-hot and it’s the best fucking thing he’s ever felt without something wrapped around his dick.

Jared’s hands linger at the small of Jensen’s back, hovering above the waistband of his boxers like he’s waiting for the permission he knows Jensen’s already given. Maybe it’s a testament to how much Jared’s grown since they started this that after a few seconds of indirect, chest-clenching nervousness that Jensen can feel down in his bones – this sharing emotions thing is mother fucking freaky sometimes; he doesn’t know how Jared keeps from going nuts – Jared’s hands slip down to palm the curve of his ass, under the boxers this time. Maybe it’s a testament, but Jensen’s really not up to thinking about it right now because as soon as those strong fingers have a grip on the meat of his backside, his brain sizzles like bacon in a pan.

He’s pretty sure this is why Jared won’t take things further than a few messy - perfect – hand jobs. Jensen can feel the fear spike right along with Jared’s arousal every time something echoes a little too hard through Jensen; the way it makes him hesitate, curl in, pull back. Jensen fucking hates that feeling; he bucks harder, presses a hand against the jut of Jared’s hard on through his thin underwear as he moans encouragement into the kid’s mouth.

A part of him wonders if this is what it’s like for other people, when they’re teenagers and stuff, just discovering everything, getting to touch somebody else’s body, or if maybe it’s just how starved Jared’s been for it for so long that makes it seem this way. Jensen can’t ever remember it feeling like this for him, but then he’s got no illusions that his sexual history is any kind of normal. Sometimes that comes in handy.

He slides his fingers down over the curve of Jared’s sac, weighs it on his fingers before turning on that sex-phone operator voice that he’s used on a hundred johns.

“So full for me, baby. So heavy.” He massages at the base of Jared’s cock with the heel of his hand – the kid eats it all up with a spoon, head thrown back and just fucking wanton. “Gonna come hard, aren’t you? Come hard for me, make me cream myself with how good it feels? Yeah, know you are. You know I wanna feel it, too. Feel your big cock throb deep inside me, slick me up, make me scream.”

Jared takes hiccupping breath, a blow-back of heat swamping Jensen – always gives it up so easy for a little murmured filth – as he tugs the waistband of Jared’s shorts down, giving him room to stroke over that gorgeous cock that Jared hides like a secret. The kid quivers underneath him, taser-shock buzz zinging up his spine from how good he’s making Jared feel.

Strong fingers grip harder at his ass along with the dull bloom of bruises that fade as quickly as they’re made – Jensen’s never really regretted that he can’t wear anybody’s marks before, but in the middle of things with Jared, sometimes now he does. The callused pad of one of those fingers flutters over his hole, petting at it like he’s a newborn kitten, bound to break at any moment. Still, it’s only been two days since he finally managed to convince Jared to even try touching him there, so he’ll count it as a victory, even if the tease is close to torturous.

He hasn’t got a clue when his dirty little monologue turned from carefully scripted porno to “Please, baby, please. Just a little bit, just one, just give me one. God, fuck me. Need you to fuck me, Jesus, Jay!” but apparently he hasn’t got it quite as together as he thought he did. It’s really fucking hard to think Jared’s pleasure sloshing around like a whirlpool in his brain, especially when he’s got his own to contend with too.

It could be the words or the feelings that push Jared past the finish line, but either way, Jensen tumbles right over the brink with him; Jared’s orgasm lighting him up like a neon sign a split second before his body gets the memo and contributes his own.

With the way his body works, he’s never really been able to get high for more than a few minutes at a time, but if this is anything like it, he can see why his parents flaked out. It’s the stomach-swoop of falling but without the fear; all of the honey, none of the sting. It’s feeling every molecule in his body as separate, unique entities for a long, tingling moment – feeling everything and nothing all at once. It’s the best fucking thing on the whole fucking planet and in that instant – every single damn time – he swears he’s going to keep Jared, one way or another, because he can’t live without this anymore.

The fade is slow, silk-smooth, like taking a cooling breath after almost too long underwater. He’s muttering something into the rise of Jared’s pec, but he has no idea what it might be. It feels good to let his mouth move, though, so he doesn’t bother to shut up. At least not until his lips brush over a wet glob of come, still warm from Jared’s body heat and that seems like a much better something for his mouth to be doing. It’s not like Jared’s come is special or anything, it doesn’t taste worlds better than any other he’d had, but it’s kind of nice and it makes this low hum simmer under Jared’s skin, which feels really fucking good on his end too, so he just laps up the wet mess and basks in the sensations.

When he gets all the way down to where Jared’s dick is laying soft and flushed and still kind of pretty against his belly, Jensen places a kiss at the wet head, tonguing at the lax mouth of the slit. For a minute, Jared lets him – maybe as wrapped up in the livewire twitches of ecstasy it brings as Jensen is in its ricochets, or maybe just too damn tired to stop him. Ultimately, though, Jared groans in something other than pleasure and nudges Jensen slightly with his hip. It’s good enough signal to back off, but Jensen stays put for a couple of extra seconds, just to prove that he can.

His own boxers are sticky and gross with the cooled come inside them, and he spares a moment to wriggle free before pressing back up against Jared’s side. It’s not cuddling, really, it’s just soaking up the remainders of Jared’s afterglow . Besides, it gives him time to formulate his argument for getting Jared into the shower with him.

Jared’s big hand settles on his hip and Jensen’s grin is entirely about the idea of Jared all slick and soapy. Really.

***

Sandy’s running down a list of suspicious incidents in a remote part of northern Oklahoma - as if there’s a part of northern Oklahoma that’s not remote – pointing out several which could potentially involve their still-at-large quarry, Lindberg. The evidence is sketchy at best, and if it is Lindberg, he’s improved significantly at controlling his powers; one of the incidents, a break in at a local branch of the FBI, shows a time stoppage of just under 3 minutes. That’s quite a jump from Lindberg’s previous record of ten seconds, but it’s also a very unique power; it seems too coincidental to think that two people in the same general part of the country could both have it without having popped up on the Area 51 list.

Jared tries – and again fails – not to shift in his seat. Going commando under jeans isn’t nearly the same thing as doing it under his uniform; there’s no support and everything keeps rubbing and moving and just making him very aware of the area. He’d swear Jensen had taken his last clean pair of underwear with exactly this in mind – some kind of messed up way to keep Jared’s mind where Jensen seems to think it always needs to be– except Jensen doesn’t even appear to notice Jared’s squirminess, nor does he feel in the least bit smug. They’re going to be having a very serious discussion later about Jensen borrowing his clothes. Just as soon as Jared changes out of Jensen’s socks.

It suddenly occurs to him that everyone is staring at him.

“Pardon?” he asks, desperately hoping that they’re watching him because he failed to answer a direct question and not because he’d accidentally been babbling out loud about Jensen wearing his underwear.

“You haven’t had any inklings or anything that we could go on? I could really use something to help pinpoint.” Sandy presumably repeats, but it doesn’t sound much like a question. Nobody even bothers to ask much anymore about Jared’s supposed precognition; years and years worth of the same lame excuse about only being able to see things within a very short time frame or proximity are wearing thin. Jeff looks placid as always, relying on Jared to supply his own lies by now; Jensen is mildly amused, but not in the malicious way Jared might have thought he would be a few months back.

Jared goes for a simple, “No, I’m sorry,” this time, and the oily flavor of resentment in response is mild. No one had really expected any different.

“So, what? We think Lindberg’s on psychic steroids or something?” Jensen thankfully deflects the team’s attention away from Jared. Tom and Misha laugh softly as Sandy fast-forwards to whatever scrap of video she plans to show them next. Jensen wasn’t really serious, of course, but… but the idea…

Jeff ‘hmm’s, expression thoughtful, like maybe he caught the same brainwave that Jared was just having.

“No one’s ever been successful before, but in concept, it could work,” he says down the length of the table to his mentor.

Jeff nods in return, eyes still on the wood grain as he replies, “Hard to believe that someone like Lindberg could pull it off, though, with no equipment, no experience.”

“Somebody want to share with class?” Chad jumps in, looking between the two of them curiously.

Jeff’s still clearly lost in contemplating the logistics, so Jared takes over. “There have been attempts over the years to create chemical enhancements for those of us with powers, something to amplify our natural abilities - like psychic steroids,” he shrugs at Jensen, who he can feel immediately kick into gear – his partner loves a puzzle. “There have only ever been very minor successes and those only with the most physical powers like Tom’s, but realistically, all of our abilities stem from something unique in our bodies or brains, our genetic make-up. In theory, there’s no reason why it shouldn’t be possible to intensify what any one of us can do, it’s just we’ve always lacked the science to be able to do it.”

The room is thrumming with curiosity and excitement, the dawning of a brand new idea.

“And you think that guy cracked the code,” Jensen snarks, thumbing toward the vid screen where Lindberg, as if on cue, trips over the statue-still feet of a hotel security guard.

“More likely,” Jeff asserts, though he still seems partially lost in his own head, “Someone else did and is providing Lindberg with the technology. Maybe someone involved with his organization, or possibly someone under duress.” His dark eyes snap back to the present, clear and determined. “Sandy, I want you to find the records for any recent disappearances in that general area; say a 5,000 mile radius, any unsolved that doesn’t have a body linked to it. Go back five years, concentrating on doctors, professors, anyone with a background in genetics or chemistry.”

Sandy gives a sharp nod and zones out, that static buzz that never fails to make Jared itch from the inside-out welling up as she communicates with the databases. “I’ve got a couple dozen that fit those parameters,” she answers after a minute and adds before Jeff can ask, “Printing now and there’s a digital copy of each casefile on your computer.”

“Good,” Jeff smiles slightly, a simple commendation that Sandy glows under, “Alright, Jared, Sandy, I trust you can handle dividing up the files. We’re looking for anything that could remotely tie to Lindberg’s organization or its values as well as any signs that the subject did not leave of their own free will. We’ll look into all of those further, but especially keep an eye out for anything that suggests something superhuman might have been involved. I’ll expect a list by EOD tomorrow.”

His mentor excuses himself with that, fingers tapping out a manic rhythm against his thigh as he walks; dog with a scent, ready to run it to ground. He may have assigned them all to go over the files, but there’s no doubt in Jared’s mind that Jeff’s going to read each and every one of them personally as well.

“Wait, there’s paperwork?” Jensen breaks through Jared’s thoughts whinily. “Nobody ever said anything about paperwork. This was not part of the job description.” He turns up his nose slightly, lips puckered and slightly pouted and Jared catches himself before he’s leaned in more than an inch under the sudden impulse to kiss that petulance away. Maybe he needs to take a little break from Jensen, obviously his partner’s bad habits are contagious.

He settles for putting a hand on the back of Jensen’s neck, the skin there warm and instantly soothing in a way that Jared’s too honest with himself to believe is purely physical. Jensen’s eyes darken anyway, lust spiking even at what Jared was positive could only be considered a chaste touch. Almost as quickly, it morphs into frustrated confusion as Jensen apparently remembers that they’re in a room full of their teammates.

“You’ll survive,” Jared promises jokingly, hoping the tone covers his own annoyance at Jensen’s evident inability to have any kind of non-sexual reaction to physical contact. Jared’s not a sex toy, dang it; it’s not always about that.

Misha and Tom touch all the time – which, alright, might be a little sexual for Misha, but definitely isn’t for Tom and they both know it – and it’s no big deal. Even Chad and Sandy touch plenty, though admittedly that’s generally some kind of play-fight. Still, not everybody feels a compelling need to read something into every little touch; some people – most people – can just enjoy a little casual contact and not start thinking about sex positions and… and Jared wants that, ok? He’s never allowed himself to touch people much, but now that he and Jensen are… kind of intimate, well, he’d like to. And Jensen has to go and ruin the whole thing. Like a jerk.

Jensen puts off the emotional equivalent of a grumble and Jared removes his hand before anyone starts to think anything of the lingering touch, going to help Sandy fetch the files from the printer. And if Jensen happens to end up with the most dreary, painfully boring files then Jared’s sure that’s a complete fluke.

***

Jensen tosses the manila file folder in his hand at the wall, immediately grateful for the little clamp things at the top that keep the pages from flying out everywhere. This fucking sucks.

He’s supposed to turn in a rundown of the files he’s read by this afternoon, noting anything worth checking up on further. He’s never been good at this kind of stuff, and he’s pretty sure Jared gave him really sucktastic files on purpose. Prick. Stupid, sex-withholding prick.

After giving Jensen a royal bitching out about taking underwear – it’s not his fault Jared’s are more comfortable than his – and handing over the pile of folders that Jensen’s pretty sure made his soul wither and escape out the bottom of his feet, Jared had stayed up half the night going over his own files – and he’s almost possitive some of Jensen’s too, since apparently Jensen’s untrustworthy or some shit – and refused to do anything about Jensen’s insistent hard on. Even laying on the couch next to Jared – in full view, totally naked – and stroking himself off in the noisiest possible way while running through every dirty thought in his spank bank for that added hit of desire had completely failed to earn him more than a perturbed glance.

And, no, that did not hurt Jensen’s feelings, because he is not a big fucking girl. But it was still kind of insulting. Also, now he’s still horny because getting off on his own is just not anywhere near as good as Jared’s sex-god thing – a title which he is never going to let Jared know he uses.

So yeah, insulted, horny and bored with idiotic paperwork – it’s not a good day.

There’s a knock at the door and Jensen categorically refuses to acknowledge the flare of hope that fills him. The air-lock opens almost immediately on the heels of Jensen’s shout of “Come in!” conveniently catching Jensen in the middle of a stretch that happens to show off the not-unimpressive muscle-tone around his middle.

Oh. It’s Jeff.

Not that Jensen’s disappointed by that; that would be stupid and needy and, yeah, just really not. At all. No matter what that lead ball in the pit of his stomach says.

“Good afternoon, Jensen,” Jeff says, walking to a stop directly in front of where Jensen’s slumped on the couch. His voice reverberates softly in the room – he’d never really thought about wanting more stuff before, but after spending so much time in Jared’s space, his own room feels cold and impersonal. “How’s it going?”

Jeff’s back is to the file Jensen threw, now laying hang-doggedly on the floor, but he’s not foolish enough to think that the older man didn’t see it.

“Fine,” Jensen lies through his teeth, trying to calm the quiver in his belly that being alone with Jeff inexplicably provokes. He suddenly feels all of about eight years old – and not even his eight years old, but somebody else’s shy, innocent eight years old. It’s fucking freaky.

“Do you have a moment?” Jeff extends a hand toward the unused section of the couch and Jensen nod automatically for the older man to take a seat. Instantly he wishes he’d made some excuse about being really busy but he hadn’t exactly been thinking things through at the time.

Jeff casually flips back the cover of the file at the top of the stack between them. It's the one for that high school girl; pretty, blonde, won some kind of president's award for some biology project she did for the national science fair. If your parents making you be in a national science fair wouldn't make you run away, Jensen doesn't know what would, so he'd scratched her off the list. Jeff just lingers for a minute, though, like her rundown is all news to him and it's making Jensen's nerves slowly fray to ribbons.

“Jared’s not here,” Jensen informs him; mainly because he can’t think of any other reason Jeff would be hanging around his room. At least not any good ones.

He’s not at all prepared for it when Jeff casually comes out with, “Lover’s spat?”

Jensen guesses he should count himself lucky that he didn’t have anything in his mouth because he would have just spit-taked the hell of it.

“What?! No! No, it’s not- we’re not-“

Jeff’s quirked eyebrow – and, damn, that man can quirk an eyebrow – cuts him off and it takes Jensen a minute to realize he’s not even sure why he was trying to deny it in the first place. It’s not like cares if anybody knows he and Jared are kinda sorta boning, although he’d probably prefer not to have that particular conversation with Jared's pseudo-father. Still, he doesn’t really give a shit what the rest of the team thinks so why not just come out with it?

Because Jared doesn’t want you to, whispers in the back of his mind and that lead ball in his stomach hops around like a Mexican jumping bean for no good reason.

“Jensen,” Jeff draws his attention back, “I am kept apprised of things, you know. Jared’s been off his meds for weeks, it doesn’t require much deduction to understand what that means.” One of Jeff’s thick-fingered hands presses almost to Jensen’s lips to forestall the defense he was about to come out with. It takes him a beat to grasp that what feels funny about that is that not one inappropriate thought ever ran across the surface of his mind at the proximity of those fingers.

“I’m glad,” Jeff continues, apparently unaware of the major identity crisis Jensen’s having – what’s wrong with him if he can’t even react to an obvious play like that with a little blow job innuendo? “I always thought that the meds were a bad idea, I’m just happy that somebody finally convinced Jay.”

Jensen could deny that the hot wriggle in his chest is jealousy over somebody else calling Jared ‘Jay’, but he’s not sure he has the energy for it at the moment with all of the other stuff swirling around in his head. What the ever loving fuck is happening to him?

“We’re not… We aren’t lovers,” is the brilliant argument Jensen ends up using, the word fitting awkwardly on his tongue. It sounds lame even to him.

Wow, Jeff needs to put a patent on that eyebrow quirk or something because, man, talk about effective.

“You spend every day with him, plus most nights – yes, I know about that too. You have some kind of sexual relationship with him, which I need absolutely no further details on, ever,” Jeff grimaces, but it melts quickly into something uncomfortably like a pitying smile. “You’re closer to him than anyone has ever been, myself included, and I suspect the same is true the other way around. And, if I may be so bold, there’s an obvious emotional connection between the two of you that, as a man who has spent the vast majority of his adult life alone, I can assure you is rare, even for people without your unique circumstances. I’m curious what exactly your definition of 'lovers' is if that doesn’t fit.”

Jensen knows he should – needs to – say something, but he hasn’t got a clue what that might be. In fact, there’s every chance that his brain has shut down from ‘what the fuck’ overload. He settles for a nice, decisive blink.

“As long as I’m being presumptuous,” Jeff goes on without missing a beat, “I’d also like to point out that I’m worried about the both of you.” That hand that Jensen completely failed – and, in fact, is still failing - to get pornographic about earlier comes to rest on his shoulder. A few seconds too late, his reflexes tell him maybe he should do something about that, like knock the hand away, or else move it so somewhere much more fun, except that Jeff kind of has that look like Jared does sometimes when he just touches Jensen and then gets all weird about Jensen coming on to him. Like, maybe Jeff isn’t hitting on him, maybe he’s just… touching.

Creepy.

“Those things that I mentioned between you and Jay are wonderful and exceptional and I would be the first to be happy for you if things work out but I don’t think any of us are in a position to ignore the obvious.” Jeff’s expression turns grave, and it makes Jensen’s alarm bells start ringing hard. That'd be fucking helpful if wasn't still stuck on blink-mode. “You have problems, both of you - Jared even more so than yourself in many ways. Between the two of you, there’s a mountain of trust issues, not to mention a set of equally matched, stubborn streaks. There are… a lot of things that could go wrong and I imagine you don’t need anyone to tell you that it’s the people you’re closest to that often hurt you the most.” Here Jeff squeezes Jensen’s shoulder a bit and Jensen’s eyes just fall to his hand, watching it like he’s never seen one before. It kind of seems like it at the moment.

“I think the two of you could be very, very good for each other, but it wouldn’t be fair of me to allow this to continue without knowing that you’re going into this with your eyes open. Whether you’ve noticed or not, you’re in a relationship with Jared and it is entirely possible that one or both of you could end up hurt along the way. It is also entirely possible that there may never be another risk as worthwhile as this one to take. But that has to be your decision, Jensen.”

Jeff's eyes are really scary. All intense and serious and Jensen's pretty sure he just threw up in his mouth. At least that would explain the thick taste of bile.

They're not... They aren't. They just aren't. He and Jared are just, like, friends with benefits and hell, Jensen's still kind of freaked out about the friend thing. They definitely aren't dating. For starters, he probably would have picked up on it if Jared was his boyfriend; he's not completely oblivious. And, ok, it can't exactly be just about the sex considering they aren't technically having any sex, but they're working their way up to it; it’s like an investment in future ‘just about the sex’ing. Spending the night is just convenient - he'd like to see anybody get up and walk all the way across the facility after having one of Jared's power-induced orgasms - and besides, Jared's room is better than his, so really he's just taking advantage. It's practically gold-digging; definitely not dating.

Does Jared think they're dating? Is he sitting around doodling little 'J+J 4ever' hearts on his suspect files? Does he think this means something? Because that would be... awkward.

He really hadn't given much thought to the whole virgin baggage issue, but now, maybe he should. Maybe he should go over there and make it really clear that they're NOT dating and they're not going to BE dating and... God, he can actually see Jared's face in his mind's eye crumpling into that kicked puppy thing that happens whenever he gets sad and that's just not an option. Because Jared pushes, so making him sad would also make Jensen sad and not any other reason that totally doesn't exist. So, alright, he just has to find some nice, non-crushing way to tell Jared that they aren't boyfriends, no matter what Jay's daddy-figure seems to think.

Speaking of, where'd Jeff go? He must have gotten up and walked out because Jensen's almost 100% that he would have noticed if, like, Chad had ported him away or something. He's not sure that getting so caught up in his non-relationship issues with Jared that he didn't notice the man stand up right in front of him and walk away is any better though.

Fuck his room is quiet. And... well, not exactly lonely but... yeah, screw it, it's lonely. He's lonely. Without Jared.

Shit fuck goddamn motherfucking Jesus sonofabitching Christ. How the hell did he let that happen?

***

The sound of the door opening would have woken Jared, except he'd have had to be asleep in the first place for it to do so. Which he hasn't been. The bed feels cold and inordinately large without Jensen in it, a fact that he'd just assume never think about if it were in any way possible to think about something else.

He'd gone through all of his files again twice after turning the list over to Jeff, gone for a run, watched a late movie and narrowly avoided going up to the control room to see if Sandy was still awake - he knows she is - because he is not needy. And he had fully intended to prove it by sleeping just fine without Jensen rolling around all over the place and hogging the covers. He's not entirely sure what completely failing at that goal proves, but there's a very good chance it's going to be something obnoxious.

Jensen doesn't say anything as he pads over to the bed, the stick-ripple of his boot soles - always with the boots - loud in the too-cold air. For a minute he must just stand there - Jared can feel his partner's eyes on him but he refuses to acknowledge it; just because he's out of practice sleeping on his own doesn't mean he should let Jensen get smug about it. Then there's the shuff of cloth rustling, the whump of it hitting the floor, and a brief moment of tension as the mattress dips before Jared has a long line of heat pressed up against his back.

A heavy breath tickles the hair on the back of Jared's neck, makes him want to reach back and scrub at them but he fights the impulse. Finally Jensen's arm settles around his waist and Jared's well-trained dick starts straining to try and reach for it.

"Your reflexes suck balls," Jensen whispers huskily against Jared's skin. Jared very nearly succeeds at suppressing his shiver.

"My reflexes are catlike and awe-inspiring. Try to disguise your blatant envy," he snarks back, avoiding the obvious ball-sucking joke because, unlike some people around here, Jared has class.

"Yeah, sure. You were just laying in wait to use your deadly bed-sheet and pillow of doom moves on me,” Jensen huffs. His fingers absently find Jared’s navel through his t-shirt and start circling it; sharks in the water.

"I knew you were there the whole time," Jared replies without the tremble in his voice that keeps threatening.

"Was it because my teeth were chattering because your room feels like the fucking Arctic Circle?"

"Maybe if you wore some actual clothes..."

"Maybe if you had enough body fat to actually hang onto some heat and help keep me warm..."

"Yes, being your electric blanket is my sole purpose in life."

"I know."

There's something off about it all. The banter's the same but the lukewarm Something flowing underneath it feels all wrong. It's not anger or sadness; it's not anything Jared can label but it feels out of place inside Jensen, that bright spot inside muffled and flickering under the weight of it.

"Are we fighting?" Jared asks quietly, half of him hoping Jensen won't hear him well enough to answer.

"No. Why would we be fighting?" That Something gets bigger with Jensen’s too-fast retort, or maybe just more intense. It makes Jared want to fidget.

"You feel... off," he settles on. The Something suddenly feels tighter, strung to quivering inside of his partner and Jared's just about to point it out when Jensen's warm hand cups around his cock and squeezes just so. Jared's carefully thought out directive comes out as a wordless squeak.

It hurts almost as much as it feels good; he's been hard since before Jensen walked in the room, his body evidently already conditioned to expect a pre-sleep orgasm, but he'd been too afraid to do anything about it on his own, not that that had encouraged it to do away. It's throbbing now, neglected and flooding with even more blood as Jensen strokes just a little too hard through his underwear, the soft fabric chafing at the head but still too good for Jared to do more than whine.

The Something is still there, maybe even more predominant now, but there's a thin veil of hunger over it; not Jensen's usual slow-burn desire but instead something that crackles and pops, hot then cold and... needy. That's the word, it feels needy in this vicious, feral way that's completely at odds with the small shushes and nonsense praises Jensen's breathing against his ear.

Focusing is a losing battle between Jensen's hand still relentlessly grinding at Jared's cock and the rigid length of his partner's rubbing erratic circles against his spine. His nerves are on fire, every last one threading out toward Jensen, picking up more, harder, yes.

He can't tell how it happens, if it's how he's picking at that undefined thing bubbling through Jensen's veins or how hard Jensen's pushing out at him with this strained, muddled desperation but that line that Jared lives on the outskirts of all the time blurs suddenly and he feels it all. There's still no rhyme or reason to it, no words or understanding of why, but it's bleeding into him like an open wound and Jared remembers this feeling; remembers it from inside of Jensen's head. It's his little kid feeling, back from a time before there was all the darkness clogging his system; raw want and broken-bottle-edged confusion and fear like teeth stained in his own blood, ready to gnaw off a part of himself just to escape.

There's pinpricks of heat scoring his face, turning almost instantly to cold and Jared's too drowned in emotion for a moment to realize that they're tears, though he's still not sure which one of them they belong to.

He wants to scream, to tear Jensen's hand away and make it stop, make him talk, but Jensen's so far out of his head Jared doubts he could get him back now on his own, more likely to get some snarling, dark-eyed creature than his friend, so he does the only thing he can think of. He takes that breathless cadence of "it's ok, it's ok, you're alright" being whispered into his ear and feeds it right back against his partner’s lips.

"You're ok, you're safe," he mutters back, lightheaded from the air they're sharing and the way Jensen's hand is still moving relentlessly over him through cotton. He might actually be bleeding from the friction, or maybe that's something Jensen's feeling; can't tell, in too deep, why does it always have to be as much punishment as pleasure? Why does everything that feels good have to hurt so much? Why can't it... why... "You're safe, won't let anyone hurt you, take care of you."

It almost never happens like this - always Jensen concentrating on getting Jared off and riding the after-burn; practically never Jensen coming first. Maybe that's a good thing, because for all Jared knows, his eyeballs just exploded. Everything's shimmering and unreal for a moment, a minute, who knows how long. He's just floatng in it, hanging onto Jensen physically as the blur between them slowly resolves into the slightly fuzzy outlines that delineate who they are.

The rims of Jensen's eyes are darker than they're supposed to be as Jared turns over to face him, a slight shine there that speaks of wetness. Jared's own feel like he's been using vinegar eye drops so he's not in much of a position to point it out.

"I think people go to therapy for this shit," Jensen jokes after a while, voice still shaky around the barb.

Jared druggedly looks down the length of their bodies to where they are pressed together at the hip, underwear dark and damp on both sides from their mutual orgasms.

"God I hope not," he murmurs back, thumb idly rubbing over the curve of Jensen's hip.

His partner lets out a little cough that might have been intended as a laugh and nuzzles up underneath Jared's jaw. The Something is still there, tainting the white-wash of ragged bliss and Jared doesn't know what to do about it. He opens his mouth to say something, his spit sticky and clinging from all of the panting but Jensen cuts him off before he gets a chance to figure out what he intends to say.

"Just leave it alone, Jay," he exhales, barely intelligible around Jared's collarbone. "Just this once, let it go."

It jars against his nature, his own urge for self-preservation, not to even try to fix it when he can feel how badly it aches inside of his partner, his friend, but with a heaved sigh and an incredible exertion of will, he does; for now.

***

Jensen would be inclined to say movie night is gay, except two guys having ass-sex is significantly cooler than this. Actually, that would be a much better way to spend this evening; wonder if Jared would go for it?

Oh, who's he kidding? Jared would totally rather watch a movie with the team than have hot sex with Jensen; just another in the long list of reasons why Jared is probably a robot. That and the abs, because, honestly, human beings do not have abs like that. Or asses. Or chiseled, rock-hard whatever-thigh-muscles-are-called. Or-

"Hold this," Jared says, simultaneously shoving a heaping bowl of popcorn into Jensen's hands. He flops down onto the control room's extra-long couch in the space between Misha and Jensen, upsetting the seats enough that stray kernels of white, buttered fluff skitter down Jensen's legs.

"Do I look like a coffee table to you?" he snaps half-heartedly, picking one of the lost kernels out of the couch and tossing it at Jared. He catches it with his mouth.

"Well, you are fond of coffee," he crunches back, grabbing another handful from the bowl and surreptitiously spilling more.

"Robot," Jensen mutters, shoving the overflowing bowl at his partner with a glare.

Jared laughs, "What?" but then Sandy's turning off the lights - without getting up, which is never going to stop being equal parts cool and freaky as all get out - and cuing up the movie.

Jensen settles deeper into the cushions, shoulder bumping Jared’s, arm of the couch on his other side. They aren’t talking about what happened the other night, which is just fine with Jensen, even if the not talking about it has given all of their other interactions a slightly forced, over-enthusiastic quality. He’s reached his lifetime quota for lovey-pet-pet moments with Jared.

The first scene is a chase which ends in at least three cars exploding, so maybe this won’t be so bad after all. It’d be better if he could stick his tongue in Jared’s mouth and lick away some of that artificial butter and salt, but maybe that’s a bad idea. They’ve sort of toned down the physical side of things for the last few of days - which is a good plan since whatever happened that night was way more personal that Jensen had ever intended to get - but he also, sort of, maybe misses it a little.

Alright, fine, he’s jonesing like a junkie looking for his next fix. But whatever, that doesn’t mean he should go for it, because that place? That place that he and Jared got to – out of fucking nowhere - where everything was just out there, no protection; that was the scariest shit Jensen’s felt in a long time. Way worse than realizing he and Jared are kind of more than friends, way worse even than thinking that they might accidentally be dating. It was a lot like what he imagines that-word-that-he’s-carefully-not-thinking-of would feel like, except he doesn’t feel stuff like that, especially about prudey guys he’s just in it for the sex with.

Also, this pretending thing is especially obnoxious because he knows Jared knows what he’s feeling right now, but he doesn’t get to know what Jared’s feeling and that’s like eight different kinds of unfair.

Jared’s hand slides up to soak the knee of Jensen’s jeans in heat, thumb caressing a little arc along the dip of his kneecap. Ok, really not the time to play the horny card, Jay – hello, the team?!

Misha upsets Jensen’s mental diatribe about Jared’s sudden exhibitionist leanings with a smug, “Told you.”

Chad glares from his seat on the floor next to Sandy, eyes flashing from Misha to Jared to Jensen to Jared’s hand on Jensen’s knee. “Shut up, that doesn’t mean anything,” he dismisses with a wave of his hand.

“What’s going on?” Jared asks, looking around at each of them with obvious confusion.

Chad doesn’t take his eyes off of the guy on the screen who is single handedly taking out an entire swat team with nothing but items from his grocery bag when he replies, “Misha thinks you guys are doing the nasty.”

Jared blinks and blinks and then blinks a little more. Yeah, Jensen knows that feeling. Would have figured Jared would have gotten it out of his system when Jeff mentioned his stupid dating idea, though.

“Oh,” is what Jared finally manages to say hollowly. Not exactly the ardent denial Jensen was anticipating, but maybe Jared got confused about the terminology. Really they’re not doing the nasty; the mildly unsanitary maybe, but there’s no nasty. That’s probably what did it.

“But you’re not, right?” Chad probes, around a mouthful of popcorn, still not looking away from – wow, can you really do that with SPAM?

Jared flounders a couple of ‘uh’s and ‘um’s and now Jensen’s mostly confused. Jared not telling anybody what’s going on with him had been right at the top of his list for reasons they absolutely could not be dating and now Jared’s really not stepping up to the plate to help him out on that one.

“Win!” Misha shouts, fists in the air, head thrown back like he just ran a marathon in record time or something.

Chad kicks his feet at the carpet. “Damnit, Jared. Now he’s going to gloat about that for fucking ever.”

Misha makes his point for him by getting up and doing an impromptu touchdown dance in front of the TV. Tom chucks a pillow at him.

“I… I’m sorry?” Jared apologizes in a voice that sounds a lot like ‘huh?’

“Whatever. Just, no homo kissin, ok? Trying to eat over here.” Chad tosses a handful on his snack at Misha for good measure and loses the rest when Sandy’s hand in no way accidentally tumps the entire bowl into his lap.

“Oops,” she grins. Chad promptly starts trying to shove popcorn down her shirt while Sandy presumably does something to Chad’s cell phone because he immediately starts shouting and trying to dig it out of his pants pocket.

In the meantime Misha hurls himself back onto the couch between Jared and Tom, disregarding his partner in favor of smirking at Jensen and Jared. “Ignore Chad. Please feel free to make out as much as you like. I’m more than willing to lend a hand if one of you needs to tag out for a minute.”

“Misha!” Sandy cries, eyes wide and clearly scandalized.

Misha shrugs, “Just being honest.” His grin only lasts for a second as Tom gets him in a headlock, easily keeping him pinned with his head balanced over Tom’s lap – Jensen seriously doubts how genuine Misha’s struggles for freedom are.

“Can y’all please shut up?” the larger man requests calmly, tossing in a smile their way along with a, “Congratulations guys.”

Jensen’s this close to saying thank you, but luckily catches himself. Because he’s not dating Jared. And he doesn’t want to date Jared. And clearly Jared does not want to date him because he’s looking like somebody just told him that ice cream is secretly made out of ground up ducklings and the tears of starving orphans.

“What, Jeff didn’t come by and tell you we’re dating?” Jensen does not grumble, that’s just his quiet voice – he’s being respectful of Tom’s veining experience. It sounds pissed off, but it’s not, because he’s happy that they’re both on the same page. Motherfucking happy, goddamnit.

Jared as some sort of face spasm that actually looks rather painful. Jensen suppresses the urge to rub a finger down his cheek just to make sure he’s ok – sex is so much less confusing when somebody’s paying for it. This feeling stuff crap is tricky.

“He came by and told you we’re dating?” Jared whispers incredulously. Oh, huh. Guess Jeff didn’t mention that little tidbit to Jared. Weird.

“Yeah,” Jensen murmurs back, grabbing a handful of popcorn out of the bowl in Jared’s lap. “Jeff’s full of shit, you know?”

“Oh.” Jared says, too quiet for Jensen to get a bead on what kind of feeling went along with it, “Well, yeah, I could have told you that.”

“Maybe you should tell him.” Jensen tries to smirk back, but it feels odd on his face. For some reason everything feels a little worn thin all of a sudden, a little close to what happened the other night.

Jared’s smile doesn’t seem to fit right either, but that might just be the blue-orange-blue reflections of the explosions on-screen highlighting his face. “Yeah, maybe.”

Ok, yeah, that’s enough of that.

“You wanna freak out Chad and make out?”

Jared’s eye-roll is a little melodramatic, but there’s a warmth in his smile that seems more genuine now and it does funny things to Jensen’s lungs. “Seriously, we’re getting you a hobby. I hear knitting’s all the rage.”

“All the rage? When, 1923?”

Tom glares at him across the line of Misha’s still pinned body. “Oh my God, will you guys shut up! We’re missing the movie.”

Sandy immediately chimes in with a sing-song of, “This movie sucks.”

“This movie is awesome,” Chad retorts, tossing some of the popcorn that hasn’t already been ground into the carpet at her. Naturally it devolves into another tussle that’s half slap-fight, half wrestling match. It’s never occurred to him before, but maybe those two are doing it. Which, now that Jensen thinks of it, ew. And also, ew.

“This movie has no plot or two-dimensional characterization,” she growls, successfully pinning Chad for the .02 seconds it takes him to port behind her and tackle her to the ground.

Jensen actually has no idea what’s happened in like the last twenty minutes of the movie, but he’s perfectly happy to stir up anything that involves Sandy giving Chad a beat down. “Hot guys blowing shit up, what’s not to like?”

“That’s what I’m screaming!” Misha’s voice reverberates oddly form where’s he’s still trapped staring at Tom’s crotch – yeah, he’s really putting no effort at all into escaping.

“I hate you all,” Tom sighs, one hand covering his face as Sandy makes the lights flicker like a strobe. Jensen’s not sure exactly how that’s supposed to aid her pillow-attack on Chad, but it certainly adds to the atmosphere. He wonders if they’ve ever actually made it through a movie at one of these things.

“Aw, pouty Tom,” Jared whines with his own exaggerated pout. He looks happy, playful, and maybe he’s pushing because Jensen feels kind of giddy just looking at him.

Misha yells “Tom sandwich!” at which point both Jared and Sandy load onto the far end of the couch in a massive people pile. Well now at least Jensen understands why Jared wore his full-fingered gloves tonight – that’s a lot of contact.

“Crap! Knock it off!” Tom shouts from somewhere underneath the madness, as though he’s not perfectly capable of bench-pressing the entire team, possibly with one arm. Yeah, Jared’s gotta be pushing because Chad’s over there laughing at them like he’s stoned off his ass and Jensen can’t help himself either and it’s really not that funny but it still totally is.

They never exactly get around to watching the movie, at least not all the way through. Toward the end Jared manages to get everybody calmed down – which pretty much answers Jensen question about whether the pushing was intentional – and they catch the last couple of scenes before they start randomly skipping around the disk to debate the realism of each of the fight scenes.

Somewhere along the way Tom and Misha end up sacked out on the floor too with all of the pillows, but Jensen’s not particularly missing the padding because Jared has thoughtfully set himself up as a giant cushion for Jensen. He’s against one of the sofa-arms, Jensen nestled, back to chest, in the V of his splayed legs.

Jared can glare all he wants, there’s no way that’s not totally sexual and the not-so-soft bulge resting along the curve of Jensen’s back agrees. Still, he does his best to tell his own dick to shut up because he does, in fact, get that this isn’t the time or the place and while it still jangles along his nerves to fight all of his natural impulses like this, it’s sort of nice to just lay here with Jared’s arms slung around his middle and their fingers not quite interlaced; you know, in a totally girly way that he will absolutely take to his never-gonna-happen grave.

Because they’re not dating, but if Jensen was going to date somebody, Jared might not be such a bad choice.


	9. Chapter 9

He’s been pushing more for weeks now. Maybe, if he’s really being honest, ever since the first time he touched Jensen. And it’s only getting worse, except for the ways it’s getting better. The thing is, yes, he’s pushing more - quite a bit more, in this natural, unconscious way that scares the hell out of him - but at the same time, he’s more grounded, more aware, like everything that’s ever been a struggle about his power before is slowly fading out.

Except for when he and Jensen are in the middle of… stuff, that calm, quiet place in Jared comes easier, or maybe just never really goes away. When he tries to block himself off or stop pushing, it’s easy, almost unsettlingly so, but then if he’s not trying to close himself away, it seems like he’s more cognizant than ever of what the people around him are feeling, and more than anyone else, Jensen. That connection between the two of them seems to be getting stronger and stronger, to the point where sometimes he can feel Jensen even when he’s all the way across the facility – as though he's focusing himself through Jensen instead of his own mind.

Right now it's not even a challenge, with Jensen's head resting on his lap, sleep-heavy breaths heating the fabric of Jared's sweatpants. He fingers through the prickly silk of Jensen's hair, shining red and gold in the afternoon light, but is actually zeroed in on the ebb and flow of the soft pastels of emotion painting the back of his mind. Jensen doesn't dream in images much, unless it's a nightmare or something to do with sex - or possibly he does and Jared just doesn't pick them up. In a way, he hopes it's the latter, because that, at least, would mean he's not quite as deep in Jensen as he sometimes worries he is.

He's spent most of his life working on distance, making sure he doesn't lose himself in anyone else's feelings so much that he can't climb out. This isn't exactly that. He almost never worries about losing part of himself to Jensen or vice versa; even when the lines go blurry and everything kind of meshes between them, he knows who he is, where he belongs. It's more like puzzle pieces fitting together, or maybe a key to a lock; Jensen slots right into these places he didn't realize he was empty and makes him aware of them, makes him feel them and yet, somehow keeps him from drowning in them.

It's bizarre and sort of wonderful, and perhaps the most terrifying thing Jared's ever experienced.

Jensen makes a sound deep in his throat and turns over, nuzzling against the ties of Jared's sweats and then up a little underneath his t-shirt to that trail of hair Jensen seems to be inordinately fond of.

"Shh," he mumbles against Jared's skin, muscles underneath jumping ticklishly, "Thinking too loud. Trying to nap here."

"You are the world's biggest kitty-cat," Jared says back and it's hard to ignore how fond his own voice sounds.

Jensen gives up a lazy imitation of a growl and nips at Jared's belly. "Gonna assume that wasn't a pussy joke 'cause I don't feel like kicking your ass right now."

"As if you could." He scratches his blunt nails over Jensen's scalp, earning a shiver and a warm surge of want. Jensen nuzzles a little harder and licks languorously at the skin.

"Totally could," Jensen argues sluggishly, apparently move occupied by getting farther up Jared's shirt to lap at his navel. "Don't even pretend you’re not scared of me."

Jared doesn't get a chance to answer before Jensen's french kissing the little divot. He’s giving it the kind of slow, dirty attention Jared's body usually garners between his partner's first orgasm and the second; indolent and hot and still impossibly hungry. Jared’s dick has been paying attention since Jensen first laid over in his lap half an hour ago, and now it's particularly making its presence known, twitching with each fresh rush of blood filling his flesh, every wicked sweep of Jensen's tongue.

"Jensen," he warns, not that he thinks getting him hard would in any way incline his friend to stop. Still, he tries again, adding in a nudge to the shoulder, again to no avail. He pushes harder on the third attempt and Jensen's mouth comes off of him with a pop, followed by his partner's ever-devious grin.

"Yes?" he asks innocently, fluttering his eyelashes at Jared as he eases his head back down into his lap, cheek rubbing not-even-a-little-accidentally against the line of Jared's erection.

"I was not kidding about that knitting thing," he pokes Jensen in the side, once more failing utterly to dissuade him from opening his mouth over the stretched fabric and humming. Jared fully intends to pull him off, it's just that sometimes when Jensen does stuff like that, he can't seem to get his body to remember what it's supposed to be doing. Also, it's significantly harder to aim his counter-attack with his eyes rolled back in his skull.

"I know you weren't and it's adorable," Jensen patronizes, words slightly slurred as he licks and mouths and generally soaks Jared's pants.

Jared tries to shove him off again, a lot less effectively than the last time, because Jensen just turns with it and gets Jared's fingers in his mouth instead - all hot and slick and so incredibly soft. The part of Jared's brain that's hardlined to his dick - most of his grey matter at the moment - is having a conniption about how good that would feel around him; how right and sweet and how much he needs to be in there and there's a very good chance he's having a panic attack right now.

"Jensen," he warns, sounding a lot more broken than he does forceful. Jensen just sucks harder, as though that's ever worked before.

Jared strains for that empty space inside that he wants to slam down between them like a blast door, but he can't get there; the warm-soft-bright thing in Jensen bleeding into him and refusing to go away. Jensen nips at Jared's wet fingertips and whispers against them, "'S'alright, Jay, let me have it. Just let go."

Absently Jared wonders whether he's that obvious or if Jensen can feel the difference when he holds back. Either way, it doesn't matter because the warm-soft-bright surges and takes up a little more of Jared's quiet space, sending him tumbling down a slope into the tide of Jensen's want, Jensen's need, Jensen, like his words were a command. Damn Jensen and his obstinate compulsion to prove that Jared can't hurt him, so damn sure that nothing can touch him. Seems to forget that Jared doesn't need to touch him to screw up everything he is.

It shouldn't be so easy to lose himself like this, but it is. With one of Jensen's arms curved around his back underneath his shirt and Jensen's mouth, furnace hot, nudging down the waistband of his sweatpants and Jensen just everywhere, inside outside, like air and water and light all rolled into one - with all of that, Jared forgets why he's supposed to be fighting.

There might be some small vindication in the fact that Jensen doesn't actually get to suck him without permission - not that Jared sitting there, panting and rolling his hips doesn't probably qualify as consent - because he still hasn't worked up much staying power. By the time the plush press of Jensen's lip are halfway up the shaft - the rest of it still covered by his sweats as his partner kisses his way up to the head - Jared's ready to scream and with the first press of temporarily bruised lips to the crown, he's done for.

Jensen gasps at the first blurt of it across his mouth, dripping milky and thick across the red of his lips, though he had to have felt it coming on. Potentially it's because he's coming to, brand-hot spatters of it hitting Jared's arm where Jensen was at least smart enough to have gotten his jeans open in advance. From then on, Jensen manages to catch most of it in his mouth, lips pouted just there at the head, using Jared's dick like a drinking fountain on a sweltering day, the occasional slick trail sliding over his bottom lip onto his cheek and chin.

It's like all of that thrumming heat that had built up in Jared’s spine is draining up instead of down, flowing steadily into his brain until it all feels warm and viscous. Then Jensen’s mouth is on his, wet and bitter in a way that still sort of makes Jared’s skin crawl – that’s him, that’s his… yeah, no, it’s weird – but he doesn’t have the mental dexterity to do anything but kiss Jensen back and take it when Jensen swipes a couple of fingers over the mess still on his cheek and presses them into Jared’s mouth.

“Fuck. So fucking hot,” Jensen pants, not actually bothering to stop mouthing at Jared’s lips and chin, “Make me fucking crazy, baby. Love it. Christ.” He’s straddling Jared’s lap, hips still churning slightly with the low hum of ‘more’ Jared can still feel tickling the underside of his skin. It’s a slow thing, though, about as close to sated as Jensen ever gets. One day, Jared will find a way to erase even that, to just sex Jensen out and leave him too content to even imagine wanting more. That thought ringing in his head almost sides him right back into panic, except he just doesn’t have the energy. Instead he pushes his tongue a bit further into Jensen’s and lets the feelings ride.

***

There’s something about the smell of rain hitting hot dust; fresh and steamy and teeth-itching at the same time, like he needs to open his mouth to the heavens and let it rinse the grit away. Jensen kinda likes it.

He’s sitting under an awning outside of the east wing, watching the raindrops pelt into the thin mud of the courtyard and enjoying the silence. He can’t exactly feel Jared the way Jared says he can feel Jensen, but he has that impression; like Jared’s here, just barely out of sight, even though he’s probably in his meeting with Jeff by now. It’s kind of trippy and it doesn’t bother Jensen nearly as much as it seems like it ought to. Mostly it just bugs him that Jared’s not sitting next to him because he’d really like to see all of that smooth, tan muscle pulled taut from the shock of cool rain and the heat of Jensen’s tongue as he chases the drops. Really that’s the shit that bothers him about this thing with Jared more than anything else; the weird ass romance-novel ideas he keeps getting – wanting – about the two of them.

He sticks his fingers just past the edge of the canopy and gets them wet so he can lick the taste off of his own skin, because apparently somewhere along the way he got in way over his head.

Sandy sliding down to the ground next to him is a surprise since he hadn’t even heard the door open. Then again, Sandy, like, talks to the doors and shit, so maybe she can ask them to be quiet too. Yeah, that’s way too creepy to think about. Jensen shivers slightly and gives her a nod of acknowledgement.

“Hey,” she chirps as if she’s got no agenda here, like she just comes to hang out with Jensen all the time. He hums a greeting in return, hoping she’ll get the hint. It’s not really something he needs to rehash a-fucking-gain.

But, of course, she doesn’t understand that, so she just carries right on with, “So, listen-“

“No,” Jensen cuts her off soundly, slightly harsher than he intended to.

For a second she’s totally silent and he can feel her staring at him, but he just keeps right on watching the rain. What is it with everybody around here needing to be all up in his business?

“No?” Sandy asks incredulously. Probably not a lot of people deny electro-girl.

“N.O.” Jensen huffs back, hint of a growl mixed in there somewhere for good measure.

“What do you mean, n-“

“Look, I get it alright,” he finally snaps, turning to face her stricken expression, “Jared’s everybody’s special boy and you all want to love him and protect him and make sure the big bad wolf doesn’t do anything naughty to him, but this thing between us is between us and it’s not any of your fucking business. He’s a grown-ass man and he’s in this by choice so if you feel compelled to put your two-cents in, go do it to him because I have reached my heartfelt-relationship-talk quota for this lifetime, ok?”

Sandy’s eye sort of twitches and then she just stares at him, nothing breaking the silence but the shuff of water meeting ground. Jensen forces himself to meet her gaze head on all the way up to the moment when her forehead wrinkles and she very slowly says, “Okaaaay. Um, so listen, about the case…”

“The what?” The switchboard in Jensen’s mind fumbles at the unexpected subject change, trying to connect the dots.

Sandy sighs at him. “The case. You know, that thing we’ve been working for, like, weeks now. Chad Lindberg. Stopping time. Big freaking problems. Any of this ringing a bell?” ‘

Jensen can actually feel how stupid the look on his face is, but he can’t seem to make the expression change. “Oh, yeah. I. Oh,” is the coherent answer he succeeds in stuttering out.

“The world didn’t halt on its axis just because you and Jared started having sex,” she whispers confidentially, eyes shining with a suppressed grin.

“We’re not having sex,” Jensen answers, immediately regretting it. The plan was to keep other people out of his personal business, remember?

“Yeah, right,” she scoffs, then apparently notices something in Jensen’s face because she does a double-take. “Wait, really? Why not?”

Jensen grumbles, “Nevermind. Don’t wanna talk about it,” and flicks vindictively at an offending pebble near his fingers, sending it skittering out into the weather.

“You sure?” Sandy cajoles, edging in a little closer and getting red dust all over her neon-yellow-and-black striped tights. “Because it kinda sounds like you wanna talk about it.”

He doesn’t think twice about shoving her hard in the shoulder. She topples to the side like otaku-Barbie knocked off her stand.

“Ah!” she squeaks up at him indignantly, “You pushed me!”

“So?” Jensen shrugs back as she brushes the dust off of her right side.

“So I’m a girl!”

“So?”

Sandy smirks at him. “Good answer.”

See this? Exactly the reason having sex with dudes is better. Well, you know, and how fucking hot guys are, but this also. Damn confusing women.

“What about the case?” he prompts after a minute during which Sandy seems perfectly content just to sit next to him on the ground all afternoon, humming softly to herself. He's beginning to suspect that Sandy needs some more human interaction - it looks like those machines are making her nuts.

“I wanted to get your perspective on something,” she replies blithely.

“My perspective?”

“Uh huh,” Sandy nods. She sticks the toes of one sandled foot just beyond the dry barrier and the jerks them back, watching the wet, hot-pink-tipped digits wiggle with apparent fascination. Yeah, lots more human interaction.

“You sure you got the right partner?” he snarks instead of pointing this out; last thing he needs is for, like, all of the lights in this joint to decide they hate him or something. And he just personified lightbulbs. Awesome. Now Jensen's going crazy too. He really needs to find Jared and make him call his nutjob fag hag off.

She smiles at him then, a real smile laced with good humor and playfulness and an unexpected degree of affection. Jensen could count on one hand the number of times anyone looked at him that way before he came here. He kinda wishes they'd all knock it off, it's freaking him out.

“Well, Jared could definitely tell me the most tactically efficient way to break into a militarized weapons facility, but considering that Lindberg hasn’t got the resources to set up a strategic strike, I thought, the only guy on the team with a legitimate criminal history might be the man to talk to about breaking and entering in the real world.”

That sweet smile is turning just a little bit cocky and Jensen’s mouth starts pulling up to match it without his approval.

“What you’re saying is, you just want me for my street cred,” he teases.

Sandy winks at him and nods, perfect white teeth glinting like a toothpaste commercial or a predator on the attack.

Jensen crosses his arms behind his head and nods. What do you know? Not everybody around here fails to appreciate Jensen's valuable, hard-won skill set. “B&E, huh?” he asks casually.

Sandy affirms, spreading her arms wide to encompass the empty courtyard before them. “On a grand scale.”

“You got the specs?” Jensen can feel himself grinning and doesn't even care to cover it. It's been way too long since he was anything but the rookie or the team leader's psuedo-boyfriend. He's a bad ass criminal, damnit, and it's about fucking time he got a chance to shine.

“Yeah,” she smirks back mischievously, hoisting herself up and dusting off the dirt-prints on her butt with dainty hands.

Jensen follows suit, doesn't even have to swipe his thumbprint before the door opens in front of him. Sandy flashes him a thumbs up.

“Well let’s see ‘em, little sister,” he says, ruffling her hair before he darts inside, just ahead of her outraged squawk.

***

“You came up with this yourself?” Jared muses, eyes scanning the satellite images on the wall screen. The plan’s actually not half bad.

Jensen cocks his hip against the table, leaning on it as he crosses his arms and looks smugly at Jared. “Try to sound a little less surprised, boy. I had mad skills back when you were on training wheels.”

“Boy?” Jared quips in return.

Jade green eyes track down Jared’s body - at least as much of it as Jensen can possibly see around the table. “Last I checked,” he purrs suggestively.

Which, really is entirely too far in front of the freaking team. “Jensen!” he chides at his completely unabashed partner. If anything Jensen just brightens.

“Yeah, you guys are adorable,” Chad chimes in flatly, “Can we move on before I puke?”

Now it’s Sandy’s turn to snap sharply at her partner at the same time that Misha throws one of his origami creations at the shorter man. Chad phases out just before the paper erupts with a tiny pop – Misha never manages to hit Chad, Jared doesn’t know why he still bothers – reappearing behind Sandy who promptly smacks him in the stomach with the back of her hand.

“You all suck balls,” Chad grouses, rubbing at his belly with a glare for the technopath.

Jensen shrugs, bracing one foot on the edge of Jared’s seat. “Eh, we’re working up to that.”

Chad’s eyes might actually be in peril of bugging out of his head. “Oh, God. Trashcan, vomit bag, something!” he cries motioning frantically with one hand covering his mouth as he fakes gagging sounds. Jared’s face feels twenty degrees hotter than the rest of his body.

Jensen chuckles easily, head tipped back in that casual sort of way that Jared rarely sees him use around anyone else. It fills him with a completely irrational urge to reach out and stroke his fingers over Jensen’s where they’re resting on the edge of the table just to feel that lulling heat and the simple contentment he can sense humming under Jensen’s skin, but he tamps down the impulse and focuses back as Jeff pointedly clears his throat. There’s a curve to his mentor’s lips though that matches the rest of them. It takes Jared an extra moment to reel back in the unintentional, searching tendrils of his own ability bridging out around the table.

“We feel confident that this is their plan?” he probes, though Jensen’s argument had been both clear and concise. Jensen doesn’t seem to take offense; if anything that swell of self-satisfaction in him grows a bit with rehashing his point. Not that that’s the reason Jared prompted it in any possible way.

“Different plates, but that’s the same POS Lindberg’s been driving since the bank job – no other reason for it to be hanging around the factory. Nothing else in the area to hit,” Jensen breezes, jerking his chin at the sat-feed of a burgundy and silver sedan circling the munitions plant for the fourth time. “We could try to raid the house the car’s been parking at but if they really do have some scientist hostage…”

“Mmm, risk of civilian casualty is too high,” Jared agrees absently, flipping through the census information Sandy had printed out as backup. Linberg’s an idiot to be so obvious about his safehouse, but the neighborhood at least was well, chosen – families, kids, lots of collateral damage if things got out offhand. Jared has to wonder if Lindberg’s group chose the spot for that reason or if they just lucked into a location that made an armed strike a tactical impossibility.

Jared ‘hmm’s to himself, mentally going over the variables of a mission like this. He snags a quick glance at Jeff who gives a barely-perceptible nod which Jared echoes at double-strength when he passes it on to Jensen. “Walk me through it,” he commands, though it may lose something in the way he’s having to fight back a grin. He could say it’s all reverb from Jensen’s own glowing pride, but that wouldn’t be anything but an outright lie.

Jensen’s lower lip disappears between his teeth for a moment, reappearing slick and even more tempting than usual. Nervous, excited, nervous again – it’s an odd mix from Jensen, but a good feeling, an accomplished feeling, and Jared likes that he had a hand in putting it there.

“Well, the main gates are blocked off at night,” Jensen moves closer to the screen, fingers tracing out an illustration of his words, “but the back gate’s only got a crossbar and tire-spikes. Split a large gauge pipe and you can drive right over that shit, so I’d put money down that’s how they’ll go in. Not sure if they’re planning on boosting something or just blowing the place, but either way, they’ll probably go for the south-side loading dock which works out perfect for us – easy to block off and contain. I figure the best way to cover all our bases is to set up Tom, Misha and Chad out toward the front of the building, just in case the fuckwits decide to try taking on the front door, while you and me set up on the roof overlooking the loading dock. Once we know which direction they’re heading, Chad can either bring Tom and Misha to the loading dock, or us to the front of the building. And,” Jensen stutters a little as he turns to face them again, eyes flickering around like he’d forgotten they were all watching him, or maybe that they were all here at all.

He shrugs it off just as fast, one side of his mouth tugged up like a smile he’s only aiming at Jared. “The rest is your department, hoss.”

Jared snorts at him, but his cheeks are starting to hurt from smiling so it might not carry much weight.

“Sounds like a fine plan,” he concludes, asking Sandy to dig up some more comprehensive security info before finally dismissing everyone. He never got to go to a regular school – probably best for all concerned – but he imagines as Jensen hangs back a little from the rest of the group as they stream into the hallway that this must be what a teacher’s pet looks like.

“Coming? Jared asks, gathering up the blueprints strewn across the table for later perusal and making for the door as well.

Jensen’s brow furrows, but his expression is teasing. “I’m not that easy, Padalecki.”

Jared’s eyes roll of their own accord and he lets out a beleaguered sigh as he steps into the hall, Jensen bobbing along in his wake. “Seriously, I’m going to buy you some yarn.”

“I’ll just think of something kinky to do with it,” Jensen retorts, arm bumping lightly against Jared’s as they head outside, “Oh, wait. Already have. Want me to tell you about it?”

“God forbid you have an unexpressed thought,” he says ruefully in return. Jensen sort of, well, Jared hasn’t figured out a word for it, but it seems like the emotional equivalent of a blush. His partner’s been feeling it a lot lately. Jared’s been feeling it right back.

Jensen, naturally, can’t resist bait like that. “If you insist,” he rumbles, immediately starting in on an idea that has officially ruined yarn for Jared forever.

“Jensen?” Jared jumps in, cutting his friend off mid-stream; as much to save his sanity at the moment as because he’s been waiting to do it since he dismissed the meeting.

“Yeah?” Jensen leers back, a small burst of astonishment coloring the playful desire coating him as though he actually thinks that Jared’s going to go for any of the horror he just described.

“It was good work,” he says instead and he doesn’t even need his power to read the strobe-flicker of confusion-surprise-satisfaction that flits across his partner’s face, “Really good.”

Jensen waves it off with nothing with a pout of his lips and a jerk of his head, like a silent ‘of course’, but Jared can feel how pleased about it he is, even if the older boy will never admit it.

It seems that the change of subject threw Jensen off of his mission to permanently destroy Jared’s ability to wear sweaters, but the silence between them doesn’t feel awkward or in need of filling. They walk the rest of the way back to Jared’s room with nothing else passing between them but a steady stream of emotions that make Jared question whether it’s really worth it to fight the growth of his power and the gentle brush-tangle of their fingertips as they move.

***

Jensen wakes with a start, halfway to sitting up with the momentum from that dream. He hasn’t even gotten a chance to get his equilibrium in the real world before it’s shifting again, the wave of raw fear in him muting and trying to go numb. He got a hand on Jared instantly, fingers finding his bare torso fever-hot in contrast to the cool air. The feelings come rushing back with the contact, helping to stop his head from swimming even if it does replace the sensation with lingering panic.

Jared’s obviously struggling to calm his breathing, ribcage heaving beneath a fine sheen of sweat, so Jensen does his best to think calm thoughts and rolls over so he’s plastered against Jared’s side in one long line of bare skin.

Jared doesn’t have nightmares often, as far and Jensen’s discovered in the time they’ve been sharing a bed, but apparently he makes up for it with intensity. Also, trippy as it is to pick up on somebody else’s wet dream, it’s way freakier to get their nightmares. Jesus, Jensen didn’t even know any of those kids, but when that – really scary – woman on the news said they were in a coma – that Jared had put them in a coma – he’d felt like his guts were turning themselves inside out.

He lays still against Jared’s skin, breathing out “it’s alright, you’re alright,” against the delicate column of his throat as Jared zens or whatever he does that makes everything right with the world again.

Jared’s hand is big and heavy against the back of his neck, urging Jensen up just that little bit for their mouths to rub against each other in a vague approximation of a kiss. It’s stupid the things that does to Jensen’s stomach; the whole thing turning to Jell-O just because Jared’s the one making the first move. It’s not like Jared doesn’t touch him plenty, it just that it’s almost always something casual and – as Jared has pointedly informed him - not always sexual, or else a reaction to what Jensen’s doing to him. Jared’s not exactly an initiator in their not-relationship, but that’s no reason to go all pudding-y over something that barely even counts as kissing.

Their mouths are pressed together, open and shifting slightly through the damp heat of the air between them, but mostly they’re just sharing breath, exhale and inhale passing from one to the other along with tentative little licks that make his head spin.

“You ok?” Jensen asks after a minute, hand mimicking Jared’s around the back of the kid’s neck, holding them both right where they are.

Jared nods fractionally, breaking apart his “Yeah,” to catch Jensen’s tongue swiping along his own and suck on it. Shit, that’s way better than it should be. And only improving as Jared rolls them so he’s on top, pressing against Jensen all over.

There’s a fine spasm in Jared’s muscles, not quite a tremble, as he drags his tongue along Jensen’s jawline, wet-sandpaper rasp of stubble meeting tender flesh. It’s maybe a weird reaction - intense to say the least - but Jensen gets it – has been there too many times himself not to know every inch of what the kid’s going through. Jared’s proving to himself that he’s here, not there, this man, not that little boy, in this moment, not that long-past time. Jensen just goes pliant and lets him; keeps repeating ‘not about sex, not about sex, not about sex’ to himself as Jared runs his hands and mouth and skin all over. Jensen’s dick doesn’t seem to be getting the message.

At last Jared’s head comes to rest over Jensen’s heart, body much more loose and relaxed, though the tension has transferred into Jensen, trying to hold himself back. “Sorry,” he whispers, palming down Jensen’s torso to come to rest at his hip – it’s like fucking torture and his cock jerks hard against Jared’s skin in retaliation.

His “It’s fine, don’t worry about it,” comes out a bit more strangled than he would have liked but Jared seems to be preoccupied again so he probably doesn’t notice. He’s looking down the line of Jensen’s body, lifting up just enough to reveal where Jensen’s dick is hard between their bodies, just inches away from Jared’s length – fear-soft but beginning to stir the longer they lay there.

A long, nimble finger skates up the span of Jensen’s dick, teasingly light enough that he has to grit his teeth to keep his hips still. These are some seriously fucking mixed messages Jared’s sending and if he doesn’t quit it like now, Jensen’s going to stop being Mr. Nice Guy and get his damn rocks off. Except, for the first time ever, Jared seems to be ahead of him on that one.

Shaggy hair tickles over his abs as Jared slinks down to eye level with Jensen’s now-throbbing cock. It twitches under his gaze, a little hop that puts it dangerously close to actually touching Jared’s mouth and- Christ! Son of a fucking bitch! Jared just closes the distance for him and presses his lips, soft and dry to the underside of the head. Jensen’s embarrassingly few seconds away from creaming himself just from the live porno going on down there.

He gets a grip in Jared’s hair and tries to pull him back up the bed, needing to kiss that mouth almost as bad as his needs to quiet the churning in his gut. “Jay, baby, c’mon,” he pleads, tugging a little harder on the silky strands between his fingers. Jared’s tongue just barely peeks out, only noticeable by the cool trail left in its wake. Now Jensen’s definitely gripping too hard, but it’s the only outlet he’s got for the oil-and-water need to take what Jared’s so tentatively offering and the sick awareness of why the kid’s trying to give it.

“Will you just get your ass up here?” Jensen finally barks, the admittedly brittle strands of his self-restraint fraying toward non-existence.

“What’s wrong?” Jared asks, and fuck, even those puffs of breath feel too good on needy, blood-rich skin. He sounds so young, though, like the little kid he was dreaming himself to be not ten minutes ago and it’s just enough to tamp all of that want down into anger instead.

“I’m just trying to do what you fucking wanted!” he yells, making Jared jerk back onto his knees in undisguised shock. That seems to be his M.O. lately. “You're always bitching at me about how it’s not all about fucking and then I try and do the right thing and you’re down there asking me to cock-stroke your throat and you don’t even know what you’re asking for and- Everybody has dreams like that, ok? It’s not a big deal. You don’t owe me.”

“What?” Jared sounds pissed off too, now; glaring at Jensen like he’s the one who fucking did something wrong here.

“It’s fine, it’s just a thing. Now just- just leave my dick alone and go back to sleep.” That part’s really damn hard to choke out because it’s pretty much once in a blue moon the Jared actually does touch his cock and the last thing it wants right now is for that to stop. Jensen turns over on his side, one leg tucked up awkwardly since Jared’s still just kneeling there between them.

Of course, the kid can’t just let it go at that like a sane person, so instead he grabs Jensen’s naked hips and forces him onto his back again. He looks nothing short of murderous.

“Hey,” he snarls in drill-sergeant mode. It shouldn’t make Jensen’s hips pump, but it does. “I may not have as much experience as some people around here, but you could at least let me try before you decide you don’t want it.”

A mildly hysterical laugh bubbles out of Jensen at that; the very concept that he could possibly not want to be the first ever to have that from Jared, all that wet, tight heat sliding down around his… fuck!

“You don’t owe me,” he repeats slowly, throwing in some impromptu sign language because obviously Jared’s not getting it.

Jared’s face just goes even stonier, and he’s spreading out so the he’s hovering up on his arms right above Jensen. “I know that,” he says just as steadily, though through the tiny brushes of contact between their bare skin he starting to get that there’s something else mixed in with Jared’s annoyance. “I just wanted to.”

“No you don’t,” Jensen argues back levelly.

“Why not? You’ve been begging to do it for weeks.”

“That’s different.”

“Why?" Jared barks petulantly, "Why is it so different when it’s you who wants to suck... me?”

Jensen rolls his eyes and makes it cold when he sneers, “Well, for starters because I can actually say cock, princess.”

“God, shut up. Forget it,” Jared grumbles heatedly, rolling off of Jensen and over to the far edge of the bed, spine a forbidding wall keeping Jensen at bay. It hurts in ways he doesn’t know what to do with.

For what feels like hours he lays there staring at play of grey and black on the ceiling, all the empty space around him feeling as cold as the clammy sickness gumming up his chest.

“It was nice, you know, for a minute there.” Jared’s voice surprises a gasp out of him; he’d been sure the kid was asleep by now. “When you… it was just nice. And after the other day… well, I’d been thinking about it and I just thought that maybe it might, might be good or whatever. To do something for you. To make you feel good. You’re always the one doing stuff for me and… It was stupid. But I wanted to. No other reason.”

Oh good, because Jensen doesn’t feel like enough of a douchebag as it is.

He mumbles something to that effect and Jared turns over on his back, glaring again. “What was that?”

There's an opening there to throw this whole thing off the rails; to push away that weird tap dance that Jared's words are doing along Jensen’s nerves with a couple of bitten words. It's the smart play, exactly what he would have done any other time in his life, but fighting with Jared's not nearly as fun as it's supposed to be anymore, not nearly as fun as when they're getting along. Ultimately he decides he’s better off not starting a whole other argument so he ends up sighing, “The first time I ever did that. It wasn’t because I wanted to; I wasn’t ready for it. It shouldn’t be like that for you. You’re better than that.”

Jared rolls over again, now facing Jensen, still enough space between them that he can’t quite make out the kid’s body heat. “So are you,” he says, exactly the right mix of soft reassurance and childlike confidence to make Jensen need to turn away. He can’t though, because Jared’s hand is right there, whisper-light on his shoulder, keeping him in place. He can still turn his head though, so he does, neck stretched with the effort of staring into the blank corner.

“Yeah,” he scoffs, suddenly not quite sure how they got here, why he's opening up like this - giving all of his secrets away with both hands the way he always ends up doing with Jared. “Positions were reversed; you’d never have done the shit I did.”

“No,” Jared admits quietly, “I’d probably be dead.”

The kid's chin comes to rest on top of the hand he's got on Jensen's shoulder, looking at him from way too close up with way too much sincerity in his eyes. The whole thing leaves Jensen wanting to squirm away and hide, but it seems like that's harder and harder to do nowadays when part of him wants nothing more than to be right where he is - that part of him that's growing like a cancer.

“I hate the stuff that you’ve had to go through," Jared whispers, eyes never breaking from Jensen's, "and maybe there are some choices in there that could have gone a different way, but you did what you had to do to survive. That doesn’t make you a bad person, Jen. I don’t have it in me to get caught up in bad people and..." he finally glances away, focusing instead on his fingers picking at a non-existent flaw in the fitted-sheet, "you’re kinda important to me, in case you missed it.”

“’Cause I’m your bestest friend?” Jensen jokes halfheartedly, scooting over enough to bump his hips into Jared’s to try and lighten the mood. He prefers not to consider why his throat feels like there’s a small animal in there trying to claw its way out.

 

Jared’s smile is a little too soft around the edges to sit just right, but he's looking back at Jensen now, wide open in this way that seems far more indecent than their naked bodies tucked against each other. “Yeah, that too.”

He leans in for a kiss and Jensen meets him halfway there; doesn't even think about it, just moves, body responding on a reflex to his want. His want for this kiss, this touch, this lazy heat pooling all over his body as Jared coaxes him - Jared coaxes him - into these soft touches of lips and tongue that peck his resistance all to hell. He's got actual fucking goosebumps from it and he's not sure that's ever happened to him before.

“You know, if you still wanna…” he mutters around Jared's lips, voice like he' been gargling with battery acid.

Jared slides in immediately with an all-too-smug, “Nope. Blew your chance.”

“But, I- Jared,” he whines, spirits lifting somewhat as he feels Jared’s mouth curve against his skin.

“Talk to me after mission-prep tomorrow, we’ll see.”


	10. Chapter 10

Something’s not right. It's neither a very descriptive answer, nor particularly helpful, but it's the best one Jared's got. Something's not right.

It might just be the low thrum of anticipation running like electric current through the team - it might be, but it's not. He can feel that, of course, could maybe even tap into it right now, with all of them working in concert, all focused on a single goal - connected. But that's not what he's feeling, not what's off.

There's this instinct singing along his nerves to reach of and put his hands on Jensen's skin and get that clarity that will inevitably come from centering like that, but they're both in uniform - body armor, gloves, the whole nine yards - and this isn't exactly the time or place to be stripping just for Jared's peace of mind. He settles for crouching down next to his partner, knees brushing as they both watch the loading dock below.

Tactically, it's a bad entry point - too easy to get boxed in, limited resources, single entry and exits - but Jensen's right; for a layman - and there's nothing in Lindberg's group history to suggest that they're anything but amateurs at this - it's the most appealing spot to hit. To anyone who doesn't know better, the walls on three sides of the docking bay say 'protection', the one hangar door in front and the open air behind mean no surprises. It should be like taking candy from the proverbial terrorist-baby, but there's still that feeling, steadily growing stronger.

Sandy hadn't been sure it would be tonight - only guessing based on the way Lindberg and his crew had been casing the location - but Jared can feel it in his bones; tonight's it.

Out here in the open air, there's no crackle as the comms come on, just Misha's voice whispering "We've got a truck pulling up to the back gate," out of the darkness like he's standing right behind them. Jared murmurs a quiet, "Copy," in return and shifts his gun out of its holster. He's not particularly fond of using live ammunition, but with Lindberg's ability, they can't afford the time it would take for a tranquilizer dart to take effect.

Jared chokes down the thickness in the back of his throat and sucks in a deep breath of night-cool air. Just once it would be nice to have a mission in the daylight.

Jensen glances over at him, worry and confusion written on every line of his face. No, not metaphorically; actually laid out there like a physical thing, like Jared could reach out and touch the waves of bright purple concern and swirling, hot confusion, dips his fingertips into them and wipe them away and-

Jared mentally rears back into his own mind, jerking himself away from Jensen both physically and mentally, so hard that he stumbles. As soon as he's disconnected from Jensen - as much as he can manage to, anyway - the rest of it starts pouring in. The team is the loudest in the white noise fuzz prickling at the perimeter of Jared's mind; the flavor and feel of each of them clear and individuated in a way Jared's never experienced before. Underneath that there are others, people foreign to him, some close by and other not so - others in the neighborhoods around them, further, more and more coming up on his radar with hardly any effort at all in the reach.

And above all of that, Jensen. Jensen kneeling over him, all of those facetted emotions of his laid out like a map. Jensen's voice in his ear, muttering "Something's up" over the comm-link. Jensen's voice in the back of his head muttering 'shit, Jared. What's wrong? Don't do this to me'. Jensen's warm-soft-bright thing that, heh, he really should have figured out a long time ago but is so obvious now and he just wants to pull at it a little, cover himself in a fine blanket of it, knowing that Jensen would let him even if he didn't realize he was allowing it. Has been allowing it all along.

"Fall back," Jared rasps, the words ridiculously hard to get out around the mess in his head, "Fall back. Scrap the mission."

"Jared we can't-" Sandy's voice starts, but Jensen cuts her off with a snap.

"He said no."

"Sandy, I think he's right," Misha adds, mottled anxiety deepening into something more base. It's strengthening from a trickle to a stream, melding with that from Chad and Tom and Jensen into a single surge of blind worry and Jared can't hold it, needs to, but can't and it's spilling back into the connection.

"Chad, get us out of here now!" Jensen barks, high edge of panic in his voice that's coming from Jared and not himself, the worst of it filtering through his partner before it can hit the others.

Too late, it's too late; too much to hold, spilling over everywhere it can, slipping like water through his fingers into every channel he can reach. Somewhere below Lindberg and his group must be in the docking bay because they're the next closest source and he can feel it when the aimless fear splashes into them, feels Lindberg reach for his power - not the only power here, there's another, the reason Jared can't control what's happening now - feels it kick in as time grinds like rusted gears and it only gets worse from there.

He hadn't felt it the last time - it had been just like blinking when time stopped then, only the change in positions telling him that he'd missed moments - but now he does, they all do; he can feel them all discovering that they can't move, can't even breathe, sledgehammer-hits of 'no, no, please no' pounding Jared's mind into a smear at the back of his skull. No control left, nothing to stem the flood gates; he's just a conduit now, just a link for all of this irrational dread to flow through.

Lindberg can't stop because he's too out of his head with fear and no one else can do anything about it because Lindberg can't stop so they're all just getting more freaked out and Jared can't stop because they're all too freaked out for him to help and it's nothing but a vicious cycle they're going to be caught in until it kills them - until Jared's power kills them - and beneath all of that is the girl. The girl. He can hear her, feel that alien thing inside of her - her power - feeding and amplifying all of the rest of them against her will, at its mercy just as much as they are. At least it's feeding into Jensen too, making him stronger, heal faster. At least if Jared's going to end up murdering them, Jensen will still walk away.

That's almost enough to make him smile. Instead he opens his mouth and screams.

***

It’s hitting him in waves; fear, panic, confusion. Jared’s emotions and all of the emotions that must be flooding into him, everything with the volume turned up to eleven. There’s this buzzing at the back of his head that’s just wrong, just too… empty for all the noise filling up the rest of it. It’s mind-numbing and painful, even one person removed it still burns like a sonofabitch and if the way Jared’s keeled over on the ground, mouth open on a silent wail is anything to go by, Jensen’s only feeling a fraction of it.

Every synapse Jensen has is screaming at him to help.

It's harder to move than the last time Lindberg whammied him - that's gotta be what this is - but he's got more incentive now too. Thank fuck he'd already had his gun pulled because he's not sure he could manage that kind of dexterity when he can barely manage to piece together enough thought for breathe-in-breathe-out-blink around everything Jared's loading him with. Now all he has to do is stand up, raise his gun, aim and blow that fucker Lindberg out of the damn water - assuming that he can actually get a bead on the guy from his current position because walking is out of the fucking question. If God was ever going to pick a time to prove that he's not the sadistic bastard Jensen's always believed, this is the fucking moment.

He feels every last muscle-strand in his legs as he forces his body to stand, Jared's eyes - white visible all the way around the edges - giving him the jolt he needs to get his knees locked into position. And there are some churches Jensen's going to need to visit sometime soon because just one is not going to cover all the thanks he has to offer - Lindberg's right there in the passenger seat of the U-Haul truck their crew is using, hands flat against dashboard, face stricken in panic. He's not frozen under his power like the rest of them are, but he's not moving either - Jensen can barely believe he himself is still mobile with everything pelting him.

He arm weighs eighty gajillion tons, double that with the gun, and it's shaking by the time he gets it high enough to look down the sight at his target. Nine bullets in the chamber, only nine chances to get this right with the distance and the angle and no functioning concentration to speak of.

It only takes one.

The windshield cracks when the bullet hits it, a spurt of red marring it a second later and Jensen doesn't know if he killed Lindberg or not, nor does he give a flying fuck because whatever he did got Lindberg's power out of the equation.

"Chad, get Jared!" he's shouting instantly over the comms. The only answer the strangled screams of his teammates as Jared keeps right on pounding them with exactly what they're feeding him. "Chad!" he yells again with no result.

He's not expecting it when he knees go out from under him - just pack it in and let him hit the ground - barely catching himself on outstretched arms. His skin is wet with a cold sweat and head feels like a belltower, reverberating over and over with too many tones but instead of sound, it's feeling. The bile rises in his throat and dinner follows it a moment after. It's just enough to snap a portion of his brain back online. Jared. Jared's laying on his back, if he pukes...

Jensen only makes it within a couple of feet of Jared before a 'NO!' knocks him flat. Because he heard it inside his skull. The sound – voice - whatever, doesn't stop as Jensen's cheek grinds into the gravel-paved roof, the rest of his stomach threatening to climb back up his esophagus too as the words in his head get jumbled; 'no' and 'hurt you, kill you' and 'please don't' and 'can't stop' and 'Jensen, please, Jensen, Jensen'. The only part he can focus on, though - the only part of the sediment that settles instead of swirling around with the rest - is 'kill you' because if Jared thinks what's going on in him is strong enough to kill Jensen, then there's no damn way the kid can survive it. And like hell is he letting that happen.

"Jared," he can't tell if he's talking or just thinking it but it seems - feels - like Jared understands him, "Jared, you gotta let me-" maybe he is talking because he has to stop to drag in meager breaths, "Let me help. You gotta, Jay. Gotta. It'll kill you."

The response is definitely in his head, the pounding of blood there surging painfully with every thought cracking around like a pinball in his skull. 'Kill you! Can't, won't. No, Jensen, my Jensen, no.' He's not oblivious to the waves of second-hand pain that come with the thought - the nausea, the ache like every illness his body never let him catch. It's worse than the time he shot himself in the head, worse than the time he threw himself off of that bridge, worse than that time in Dallas when he rented out the penthouse of the Crescent Court with stolen credit cards and did a swan dive into valet parking - he'd been so damn sure that one would work. All he can think is, if this is how bad it's going to hurt if Jared dies, what's the fucking point of staying safe?

His gloves seem trickier than they used to - might be because he can't even see straight now that he's this close to Jared - which is still nothing in comparison to trying to undo the uniform catches at Jared's hip. That may be Jared's hand trying to bat him away, but the only power behind it is its own physical weight so Jensen just brushes it off as Jared keeps railing at him in his head, the sound getting higher and higher. His skin's warm enough that he can't feel the heat of the blood trickling over it, only knows it's there because of the flare of pain and the tickle as the liquid drips down his earlobes, the coppery taste as it flows across his upper lips into his mouth. The wetness dribbling from his eyes could be blood or tears, but it's not like it matters. He's had worse. He can take it.

There's that increment of a second when he slides his hand under the synthetic covering Jared's hip and the time that it kicks in when all he feels is hot, sweat-slick skin and for that fraction of time, everything's better. Just before the world disappears.


	11. Chapter 11

Jared should be unconscious. He'd been out for hours the first time it happened - just months ago, but it feels like a lifetime - completely wrung out from the intensity of Jensen's mind flashing through his; too close, sharing too much. His body wants to be unconscious now - cold and achy, muscles spasming with uncontrollable shivers like he's going through withdrawal - he's just not letting it have its way; can’t spare the time right now. He shakes off the hand that tries to force him into a chair, not even taking his eyes off Dr. Ferris and her team swarm as they around Jensen, hooking his limp body up to tubes and machines.

The connection that's been blossoming between them all this time is like a steel cable now, solid and unwavering, making it easy for Jared to stretch his overworked power out along it and feel everything Jensen is like he's crawling inside his partner. The problem is, there's not much to feel. It's too muted inside, just a pale shade of Jensen instead of the real, vibrant man he's come to know. The sensation is choking him, making him cling and tug on every scrap that's left, trying to hold it close and keep it where it’s supposed to be.

He's pushing haphazardly; knows it, doesn't care. His mental walls are about as sturdy as sieves right now but his fear is just making everyone move faster, work harder to save Jensen, so it doesn't goddamn matter about the moral implications at the moment. It's still not enough.

"Wake her up," he says quietly, voice like mangled razors. Then Jeff's there by his side, or maybe has been all along, but he's looking at Jared without comprehension and that won't goddamn do - they don't have time for this! "Wake the bitch up!" comes out as a growl this time, gets Jeff's eyes shooting wide, but he's still not doing what Jared needs.

"She's the amplifier!" he tries to yell his explanation – as coherently as he’s been able to piece it together in the small corner of his brain that isn’t consumed by worrying over Jensen - but as it stands, it sounds more like a croak. The salt-iron taste on the back of his tongue says his throat's probably bleeding. "It's not a drug, it's her power. If we wake her up, Jensen'll heal faster. We have to wake her up!"

Jeff looks at him seriously; hand coming down on Jared's shoulder only to get brushed away again when even the contact through his uniform seems overwhelming. He can't avoid the rush sympathy - all mixed up with fear and anger - that hits him, though, and he doesn't want it. Damnit, he doesn't need Jeff's compassion, he needs his help because there's no way Jared can afford to leave Jensen right now, not like this.

"Jared," Jeff says steadily, but it's not his usual, too-calm facade, "if that girl ever wakes up, it's not going to be anywhere near here. Sandy's arranging a location for her now, somewhere far away from people."

It's a low blow, pointing out the condition the girl must be in, and any other time it would leave Jared reeling and sick with himself, but overloading her was the only solution at that time; Jensen's touch absorbing just enough of the overflow to allow Jared to direct the power. In this moment, he honestly doesn't give a damn what happens to her - that's for later, once Jensen's safe.

Every joint feels creaky and full of sand as he starts tugging at his uniform, the quivering in his limbs only worsening as cool, antiseptic-scented air kisses the sweaty skin of his hands, his torso. They're all staring as he starts viciously pulling at his boots, letting clothes fly every which way in extension of his seething rage.

"Well?" he barks at some slack-jawed intern who takes a reflexive step behind Dr. Ferris. He already knows the answer though; it's not Jensen's body that needs help.

"Get out," Jared adds without waiting for any response. Dr. Ferris looks at Jeff for a moment before her expression is thrown into upheaval by the surge of fury that rocks through Jared, rippling out into the room. "If you're not helping, you're in my way. Now get out!"

The peons scramble out of the room, followed by an obviously reluctant Dr. Ferris. Jeff lingers longer still, at last sighing a resolute, "I'll keep them as far away as I can, Jay."

Jared nods absently, barely hearing as he circles around next to the bed before peeling off his pants. If it was a real hospital, Jensen would be in one of those little blue gowns, but a real hospital wouldn't help him anymore than the IV tick-tick-ticking as Jensen's body chews through the fluid like it's candy. Instead, he's naked under the thin sheet, his uniform cut away by honed surgical sheers to reveal perfect, unmarked skin that does nothing to suggest how close he is to slipping away forever.

The feeling when Jared's skin first meets Jensen's as he slips onto the too-small bed is jarring and surreal - like fusion; thought and sensation and oxygen replaced by Jensen, seeping into him like a balm on all of the cracked, ruined places inside. It's bizarre and unsettling, painful in the most appealing way; perfect. The small part of his mind that's still steady wonders if they could have had this any other way. Jared shushes that part and molds himself to his partner's side, craving every iota of contact he can get.

The pushing is intentional now - necessary - forcing everything he's feeling onto Jensen like a hooked line, hoping to draw him back in. He's so far away, though, caught in the middle of two wants. Because he knows - Jared can feel him, practically hear him realizing - he could die.

Years’ worth of certainty about his immortality, worth of chasing after the grim reaper with the conviction that he'll never get there, to the thing he's wanted most. It's the darkness in him, the thing Jared's learned to ignore and accept, cool and slick as a knife's edge - blunted most of the time by other emotions, but bald and sharp now. Jensen wants this, has wanted it for most of his life, because he may well be a survivor, but it's never been by choice; he's fought and scrapped and clawed his way through life because there was no way out. And here he is, facing it down, nothing but the warm-soft-bright love holding him back.

Even that feels tiny in the midst of the nothingness taking him over - this fragile, guttering light, barely hanging on. Jared does everything he can to coax it back to life, pouring every ounce of himself he can into it, letting it cling to him in sticky-sweet strands with every touch. He's not convinced at all that Jensen can hear him, but he's whispering against his partner's ear anyway, hoping that something gets through.

"Come on Jensen, you have to come back. Can't leave me like this. I gotta tell you, gotta show you. I'll do anything you want, ok? I promise, I won't fight you, I'll let you have anything you want. You hafta let me show how much I- Please Jen, please. I can't say it if you're not here. You've gotta come back so I can say it, ok? Please, Jensen."

On and on until his wrecked voice has disappeared altogether and he can only keep repeating it in his head. He too open and raw to do anything about the way his emotions are leaking all over the place, can only be glad that Jeff will have found some way to keep them all at bay even if Jared's still roiling and raging at his mentor for not doing more to help, for not finding a way, for sending them out there in the first damn place. Jeff couldn't have known about the girl, but at the moment, that doesn't matter - no more than the fact that his greatest, life-long secret has just been outted to everyone he knows; that they've all had a first-hand taste of why Jared's a thing to be feared. Those things might come later, once his world has stopped threatening to collapse in on itself at the thought of losing Jensen

Later he'll worry about his friends and his life and the potentially terrible thing he did to that girl - about the fact everything he's spent twelve years building falls by the wayside for this man he hasn't even known half a year. Later; once he's got Jensen back. For now he just hangs on tighter to that light inside his partner that all of his faith is resting on and prays to anything that will listen.

***

It's all a jumble for Jensen - where the first time it was all stilted, juddery memories, this is flipbook-fast, but none of the pictures follow a succession; shards of Jared's mind and Tom’s and Misha's and Chad's and others he doesn't even know, grinding him down. Then there's emptiness and ease and Jared hanging on so hard Jensen's sure he's going to break something. Then the red-yellow-black of light through his eyelids and the persistent, infinitesimal sounds of medical equipment. He's woken up in enough hospitals to know that chorus. There's a heavy, tacky heat all over his left side and a rhythmic tickle at the hollow below his ear that he takes too long to decipher is breath.

Jared.

Jensen's eyes fly open, breath hung in his chest, and the first thing that hits him is holy mother of fuck, it feels like an elephant sat on his head. Oh, no, wait, that was just the emotional baggage of the entire fucking team. So, like, six elephants. And a double-decker bus. But Jared's plastered up against him like a second skin; all smooth, slightly sticky warmth that Jensen is rapidly realizing mean they're both naked, but more importantly, alive and breathing, so he can deal with the pain threatening to burst his head like a melon.

Jared's too close to turn his head and look at, their cheeks mushing together instead when Jensen tries to see him. The kid makes one of those soft sleep-sounds of his that never fail to make Jensen's stomach do flip-flops and then jerks in a too-sharp breath as he comes back to consciousness. He struggles briefly against Jensen until he's reared back enough that they're looking in each other's eyes.

The kid looks like he took a lazy stroll through hell; eyes sunken and red, purple beneath them that might as well be bruises for how dark they are and Jensen just wants to kiss them and make them disappear. Jared's too pale, drawn and thin beyond his usual marble-edged physique. His lips crack as the break into this smile that looks like ‘please’ and what the hell kind of hospital is this anyway if they aren't even making sure the kid's taken care of?

"Hi," Jared breaths in a voice that hits three different octaves before it's done, broken into little fragments of sound and silence. Jensen doesn't bother to fight the impulse to lunge against Jared, licking over desert-dry lips before pushing his tongue all the way into the kid's sleep-sour mouth and keeping it there until he feels confident that his spit has at least taken the edge off of the worst of the hurt.

Jared's eyes are wide and dark when Jensen pulls back, darting back and forth between Jensen's with so much worry and fear and hope that Jensen would swear he can actually feel it.

"What's up?" he asks after minute of far too intense silence. Jared promptly has some kind of face-seizure that never settles into an expression before he's shoving at Jensen - not particularly effective since they're still sprawled all over each other in a bed that's only managing to hold them both because it has rails on the sides - and shouting.

"What's up?! You almost died, you idiot! Do you know what you put me through?! Do you know what could have happened? What I could have done to you?! What the hell were you thinking?!"

At this point Jared's maneuvered so he's sitting up, sheets pooling around his hips where's he’s straddled over one of Jensen's legs, which, hi there. Damn, even underfed and pissed off he's still the prettiest thing Jensen's ever had perched on him. Of course that’s the moment he notices the little plastic tube at the bend of Jared’s elbow running up to a bag of clear fluid at the side of the bed – a twin to the one connected to Jensen’s arm.

“What happened?” he asks, thumb feathering along the thin, slightly bruised skin where the needle disappears into Jared’s arm.

For second Jared looks liable to explode into another rage, but then he exhales heavily and all the fight seems to flow out with it; shoulder slumping, face falling, eye going from hotly furious to just sad.

“Jensen, you almost died."

Jensen's throat feels almost too tight all of a sudden to get the words out right, but he forces his mouth to make them sound as casual as he wants them too. "Almost being the operative word."

"God!" Jared snaps, flat hand crashing down on Jensen's belly in a sharp slap that leaves the skin stinging, "You are the most frustrating, infuriating, pain in the ass I have ever met. Could you just maybe not be a smart ass about something for once?"

And, hey, ow. Not cool with the slapping. "Look, man, if you're waiting for me to go all damsel in distress and worship at your feet for saving me, then I hope you brought a fucking book," he bites back, barely getting the last syllable out before Jared's swinging his leg over and off the bed. It's kind of hard to look anything but ridiculous wandering around a hospital room naked, but Jared manages to pull off homicidal fury quite successfully.

"You think I want you to thank me?" he hisses, tearing the needle out of his arm and flinging the plastic tubing connected back at the bag of liquid like it personally offended him, "I don't give a damn about being your hero, Jensen, I'd just like a little confirmation that the four days I spent hooked up to an IV because I refused to leave your side wasn't a complete waste of my time. That maybe I didn't risk brain-damaging that poor girl just to save your lousy ass so that you can go walk into traffic or some other stupid crap because you think you're invulnerable. That you might possibly care just a little bit about the fact that you're still alive - because I care, Jensen, I care a whole damn lot." his voice is going cracked and uneven, but not like before from an injury; now it's emotion written plain across his face, brushing at Jensen's skin like a physical thing. That's absolutely the reason his stomach decides to play musical chairs with his lungs and not at all because of the things Jared's saying or the way he's looking at Jensen like his life depends on keeping his eyes glued to Jensen’s skin. It's just not.

Jared heaves out another sigh, not losing the anger this time, but morphing it into something the feels cooler, wetter, makes Jensen want to rub his scalp to try and shake the sensation. He's talking to the ceiling when he says, "And I want, just one time in our whole damn relationship, to have some kind of important moment without having a knock-down-drag-out over it first. So do you think you could just, please... just lie to me or something because I have reached the end of my rapidly fraying rope I'm kind of bottoming out right now."

There's a thin track of blood leaking from the bend of Jared's elbow, not even enough to drag all the way down his forearm, but it seems to be the only thing Jensen can focus on; the only thing in all that mess he doesn't feel completely unequipped to handle.

The room is small and Jared's still hovering close enough to the bed - like he just can't make himself move away - that Jensen can snag his wrist and tug that arm in, run his tongue over tender flesh until the tang of blood in his mouth disappears and maybe for just a few extra seconds after that because the alive thrum there is kind of nice.

Jared doesn't say anything, which is either a good thing or a bad one, but Jensen can’t tell which. Still, he doesn't jerk his arm away, even when Jensen pulls back to just stare at the web of blue veins beneath delicate skin.

"You really spent four days like this?" he says quietly, mapping out the little wrinkles at the bend with more focus than strictly necessary.

"You really think I'd make that up?" Jared replies flatly. Jensen still can't look up to meet his eyes.

Everything's too still for a minute; silence only broken by them breathing in turn and the hushed drip of Jared's IV slowly puddling on the floor. Jensen feels the moment crackling under his skin, wanting out and yet not sure what will happen once it is, knowing he can never take it back.

It hurts to squeeze the words out, settling on saying as little as he can while still saying it all.

"I waited a really long time to find out if I could die, Jay," he murmurs, half-smothering the words in Jared's skin, "Hoping that I could. Six months ago I'd have beaten you bloody for taking that chance away."

Jared snorts, deadpans, "Sorry to spoil your dream," and tries to take his arm back - that' s basically where Jensen hits the wall.

"Hey," he barks, gripping bruises into Jared's hip when he grabs it and finally finding hazel eyes with his own, "I'm not kicking your ass, am I?"

Things feel weird somehow, with Jared looking at down at him; a bizarre sort of current running between them, shuddering as though he's trembling on the inside, standing on the brink of something he can't even name. It's scary as fuck, is what it is, not the least because it wasn't really Jared that pulled him back. Yeah, sure, Jared had been there, hanging on to him for dear life, but he'd been looking into the abyss knowing even then that he could step right off and nobody would be able to stop him. But he turned around anyway and let Jared reel him back in because this thing inside kept saying over and over that as long as Jared was here, for however long that might be, it would be worth it.

Jensen breaks the eye-contact on a forced cough, turning to look at the blank wall as he makes his hand to release Jared's skin. "So... yeah. You know."

Jared doesn't say anything; doesn't move, barely even breathes as far as Jensen can tell. He can't puzzle out what the kid must be thinking, feeling, only at this moment coming to the jarring realization that that's what he's been picking up on this whole time – Jared’s feelings; and what the fuck does that mean?

"We've got to work on your thank yous," is what Jared ultimately grumbles, but he's crawling back into bed as he says it somehow Jensen knows that Jared's not mad anymore - a little confused and this weird kind of feeling that's like working a knotted muscle; painful and good all at the same time. Well isn't that just freaky as all get out? Jensen decides to ignore it as he has never ignored before.

"We've gotta work on your zombie-look," he teases back instead, poking Jared in his starkly exposed ribs, "Four days man? You need some more body fat or something; four days should not do that to you."

Jared smiles wryly. "There wasn't exactly a lot of sleep involved either." He looks all cute and pouty when he says it, eyelids too low like just mentioning sleep is making him tired. He settles back against Jensen's side, not quite as tight against him as before, but still plenty close, head slowly lowering to rest on Jensen's shoulder.

"You want me to kiss it better?" Jensen offers, mostly kidding even as his lips seem to find the every tip of Jared's nose an irresistible target.

Jared groans and talks to the ceiling again. "Ten minutes back among the living and he's already hitting on me."

"At least you know none of your prudey brainwaves did any permanent damage."

"Yeah, that would have been a tragedy."

Jensen hesitates for half a second before asking, not wanting to break this warm comfortable moment they've fallen into, but now that he's got a chance to think about it, he needs to know. "The team's ok, right?"

Jared tenses a little and buries his face is the curve of Jensen's neck, taking a long, deep breath before he nods in answer. It's not particularly reassuring, but he doubts Jared would lie to him, especially about that, so for the moment he decides to hold off on the details.

For a while, they simply lay together, Jensen's fingers finding their way into Jared's hair - matted and slightly oily, and yet, not nearly as gross as it should be. He keeps thinking that there should be something more, that this ought to be impossibly big and major for both of them because, yeah, Jensen almost died - something he was pretty sure he had about the same odds on as learning to fly without use of a plane - and Jared spent fucking days laying in the hospital with him, refusing to leave, to eat, just trying to keep Jensen around. That's, like, kinda huge, actually. Like, epic romance shit that just does not happen in real life. Then again, people aren't really supposed to heal at super-speed or feel other people's emotions in real life either, so maybe this all makes perfect, fucked up sense. Either way, he doesn't feel anywhere close to as freaked out by it as he should. In fact, he really feels sort of good about it; all warm and settled in like... like he fits. Like right here, right now, he's exactly where he's supposed to be.

Of course that's inherently stupid because he's lying in the damn hospital with Jared looking like a Holocaust survivor and a catheter shoved up his dick. Which he immediately regrets thinking about. Yeah, great job there, heart and soul - way to suck at picking the place for Jensen to 'belong'.

Jared's ribs shake softly against him and it takes Jensen a second work out that the kid is laughing quietly against his skin.

"What?" he pokes Jared in the arm curiously then immediately feels bad because his partner seems so delicate right now that even that touch might turn him black and blue.

Jared smiles at him, hand finding a natural resting place in the center of Jensen's chest. "You're just really emotionally responsive," he says, humor all over the sound, "I'm sort of glad that I can't hear your thoughts all the time; not sure I could handle the back and forth."

That makes something click for Jensen, his mind reluctantly slogging back through memories of that night.

"You did, though, didn't you?" he narrows his eyes at as much of Jared’s face as he can see in this position, "You were talking to me inside my head."

Jared looks slightly nervous but he nods, pressing in just the tiniest bit closer to Jensen's side, so subtly he may not have even meant to.

"It's not the first time," Jared admits shyly. "I mean, it's the first time I've talked to you like that, but I've heard you before. Just a couple of times," he adds as an afterthought.

Jensen turns that over in his head, running the gamut from totally weirded out to curious to pissed and back. Maybe Jared's got a point about that emotionally responsive thing. Ultimately though, it comes down to the fact that in order to make sure Jared never overhears him again, he'd have to quit being around Jared, and Jensen's at least honest enough with himself to realize that that's way outside of the realm of possibility. Somehow or other, he wound up developing a Jared-addiction and he doesn't have any particular desire to kick the habit.

"Hey, what girl?" he asks after a few minutes lost in thought. Now that he's considering it, more and more feedback is coming to him from the last mission, filtering in around some kind of fuzzy mental block that he seems to have built up; he's pretty sure he remembers Jared thinking something about 'the girl' and he definitely said something about one a while ago when he was yelling.

"Oh, um, you remember how we thought somebody had come up with some kind of chemical amplifier for our powers?" Jared slides back into his 'leader' voice so smooth it's barely even noticeable, "Well, turns out it was actually just someone else's power doing it. This girl, Alona Tal, she'd been missing for a few months, kidnapped by the group Lindberg was working for, apparently. I don't know how they figured out what she could do, but it seems they were planning to use her to ramp up Lindberg's abilities for some kind of attack. The details are still sketchy, she's..." here Jared stumbles, voice going soft in a way that makes Jensen automatically stroke a soothing tempo down the back of his partner's neck, "well, she's going to be ok, but she's understandably shaken up."

The name strikes a chord, an image coming immediately to mind of a pretty, blonde girl holding up a certificate next to a pasted on grin. "She was the in one of the files," he thinks out loud, "She, like, one some kind of President's award or something."

Jared 'mmm's his agreement and suddenly Jensen's not the only one rubbing a comforting rhythm into his partner's skin.

"I crossed her off my list." It's like he swallowed a bucket of cold marbles, the sensation churning around in him for no good reason.

"Everyone did, Jen," Jared murmurs, nosing at the hinge of Jensen's jaw, "It's a fluke she even made our list to begin with. It's not your fault."

And Jensen knows that; he does. He does. It's just... well, it probably sucked pretty hard to be kidnapped by a bunch of dickwads and having them use your power and stuff and maybe if he'd just noticed something in the file... No. Shut up. Not his fault, not his fault. Not like he even cares anyway.

"What about Lindberg?" There may be a tiny hint of growl mixed in there somewhere, but really he's just being efficient in his information gathering. Like how, if Lindberg's alive, Jensen will efficiently go make sure he's not any more. That's totally reasonable, after all, it's Lindberg's fault that Jared got hurt - twice, in fact - and he was involved with those pricks who kidnapped the girl which means it's also his fault that Jensen's got this weird guilty feeling, so he'd be completely justified in doing the world a favor and taking care of that bastard.

Evidently it's a moot point though, because Jared solemnly and somewhat sternly informs him, "Dead."

"Good."

Jared's soundless in response, something like grudging disapproval tickling at the corner of Jensen's mind. Man, he really hopes this shit wears off.

"So, does that mean everybody knows about you now?" he prompts, largely to distract Jared from his - absolutely unfair - condemnation.

Jared squirms, seems to catch himself in the middle of it, and holds still again. Jensen doesn't even need that not-so-subtle tell to know how uncomfortable Jared is. "Yeah. I mean, just the team, but yeah."

"You ok with that?"

"Don't have much choice in the matter."

The hollow sound to that doesn't sit right with Jensen, kneads at something in him insistently until he breaks the silence with the slightly put-on non-chalance of, "Well, you're stuck with me, no matter what, if that makes you feel any better."

Jared snorts disdainfully again, but Jensen can feel the kid’s mouth curving upward against his skin. "I don't know, Jen, I'm starting to think you're more trouble than you're worth," he grumps, knuckling at Jensen's ribs playfully.

"Dude, you saved my life, I'm sticking around whether you like it or not," Jensen ruffles Jared's dirty hair, "Gotta get my revenge."

Jared looks up at him, flash of pink as he sticks his tongue out at Jensen and if it weren't for the way he's mostly trapped under Jared at the moment, he'd totally have that slick little slip in his mouth by now.

Hazel eyes glitter at him from underneath puffy lids, but Jared’s voice doesn’t seem to get the message that they’re trying to go lighthearted with this shit. "Then I guess I don't have much choice in that either," he says from up close, soft like the kiss that Jensen can’t resist leaning in and giving. Jared sighs into it, breathy, almost relieved, and then it turns into a library-whisper of a moan as his lips part and the faintest flicker of tongue touches Jensen’s lips. Just like always, it makes Jensen feel all gooey inside that Jared’s the one deepening it, enticing him open, but it’s different too, in some way he can’t describe and might already be a junkie for.

Slow and languorous, their mouths meet; lick and nip and taste each other just because they’re both here and it feels good and they can. Jared’s hands are hot and right on his skin, no intent but to feel and make Jensen feel and he wants more in the same way he wants it to never end.

"I would have missed you,” he catches himself muttering around Jared’s slick lips, “If I'd died." He has no intention of saying it, but then it’s already said and he can’t really be sure he wants to take it back since it just makes Jared kiss him harder, deeper, tight breaths huffed against his cheek.

"The feeling's mutual," Jared slurs against him, dipping back into Jensen's mouth immediately like the fate of the world depends on him giving Jensen's tonsils a thorough tongue bath. It's kind of brain-melting, like, to the point where he may have forgotten large portions of the English language, not that he really gives a fuck because talking is wildly overrated when there's the possibility of making out with Jared instead.

Fuck, he'd give just about anything to be able to get hard right now and really take advantage of Jared's new-found, if mildly inexplicable, enthusiasm but he has a feeling taking his own catheter out would both A) suck to the point of leaving him curled in a quivering ball of pain in the middle of the bed and B) probably spoil the mood a little. So he takes what he's got and gets the fingers off one hand tangled up in Jared's hair, holding him in place though the kid seems to have no inclination to do anything but keep right on feeding off of Jensen's mouth, maybe forever, while his other hand finds the curve of Jared's ass, encouraging the lazy rock of his hips and the slow glide of his more-than-attentive cock against Jensen's thigh.

The kid doesn't seem to be aiming to get off, his motions too syrup-slow and all over the place to be doing more than teasing the hell out of himself. It's more like he basking in it - in Jensen - rubbing and touching and worshipping just everywhere, everything. He's not even going to lie, it's totally blowing his mind. If he'd known it would get him this kind of reaction, he'd have taken near-death for the win months ago. Jesus.

"Jensen," Jared exhales against his ear like a prayer - and he's really starting to rethink that catheter thing because damn - but Jared's still going, "I-"

Like a side-swipe, it hits him that they're on the brink. The brink of what, he hasn't got a clue, but something; something possibly big and it's giving him that roller coaster, floating-stomach sensation, caught between wanting to leap right over the edge and to hit the brakes as hard as he can. It sputters through his veins, scattershot electric current that sparks and flares at random intervals, lighting up parts of him at random.

Jared might sense it, or else backs off on his own, or maybe just didn't have anything planned for the rest of that sentence and Jensen's subconscious is being a paranoid bitch, but whatever the reason, nothing follows but a moan and the pull of Jared's teeth against his neck, just the right side of pain to send an uncontrollable shiver down Jensen's spine.

Jensen groans, back arching into every inch of contact as Jared muffles him with his mouth. They must both completely fail to notice the sound of the door opening, or else it's a really quiet door because they don't stop the hardcore tongue fuck they've got going until Jeff's voice echoes "Jared," off the walls loud enough to suggest it's not his first attempt at getting their attention. The kid jerks away immediately, sitting up and then crawling off of the bed to a folded pile of clothes on one of the chairs; robbing Jensen of all of that sweet touch he was thriving on. He always knew he didn't like Jeff.

Their leader very studiously watches the wall while Jared slides into a loose pair of sweats and a t-shirt that Jensen thinks might be his own - and damn right he better, Jensen is so not afraid of kicking Jeff's ass if it comes down to him ogling Jay's body; Jensen's got exclusive rights on that property. Once Jared is fully - tragically - clothed, Jeff faces them both, turning a slightly unsteady smile on Jensen.

"The heart monitors showed a spike, I just wanted to make sure you were alright," the older man says, a little apologetically. He doesn't actually look any better off than Jared, sleep-deprived dark eyes and at least a couple of days’ worth of stubble darkening his jaw. Huh, Jensen hadn't given much thought to anybody besides Jared caring that much about what was going on with him and he's not exactly sure what to do with the knowledge now that it’s sitting like a lump in his sex-hungry brain.

Jared's hand settles warm over his own and tension Jensen didn't realize he was holding bleeds out. He wiggles his fingers enough to get a couple of them laced with Jared's, just to make sure he doesn't go anywhere.

"Yep, we're good," Jensen even throws in a thumbs up, hoping that Jeff will recognize it combined with the brevity as the universal sign for 'get lost, jackass, I'm trying to get laid'. Jared squeezes his fingers and shoots him and exasperated look; Jeff just seems amused, in an incredulous sort of way.

"Well good," Jeff intones along with a huff of a laugh that could be either disbelieving or thankful. "I'll go get Samantha, she'll want to give you a once over. You're feeling alright?"

"Yeah, no, fine. Good to go, don't even need the doc," he assures, maybe a little too hastily if the way Jared glares at him when he takes out his IV - like the kid didn't just do the same damn thing not half an hour ago - is anything to go by. What? He was really enjoying their heartfelt reunion, alright, and Jeff's fucking it up.

"Let's just make sure of that, shall we?" Jeff argues, an order disguised as a question. "And I'll get you both some food." This time the stern look is all for Jared and Jensen goes ahead and mirrors it, because seriously, the kid could have at least eaten, Jesus. Overachiever.

Jeff's already half out of the room when Jensen remembers to shout after him, "And get somebody in here to get this thing out of my cock, too!"

The older man pauses, turns back around with one eyebrow high. Jared laughs and nods, "He's back to normal, in case you had doubts."

Jeff chuckles too, shaking his head but smiling that soft, affectionate thing that seems to be the new trend at Jensen when he says, "Good to have you back."

Jared smiles after his mentor for a few seconds after he's gone, shifting his hold on Jensen's fingers until they're interlaced - until they're fucking holding hands like a couple of high school kids at the mall - and Jensen's going to pull away any second now. Any second.

Then the kid's laying back down in the bed, propped up on one elbow with their twined hands resting across Jensen's belly. Oh hey, more kissing - that's way more important than dealing with Jared's girly hand-holding fetish, so he'll just let it go for now.

"It really is, you know; good to have you back. Great to have you back," Jared whispers, far enough into tender, toe-curling kisses that Jensen can only manage a grunt in reply. "And Jensen, just so you know, if you ever pull something idiotic like that again, I swear I'll make you wish you were dead, you ass."

His fingers flex against Jensen's skin, dig in almost possessively, not quite hard enough to mark. The best response Jensen can come up with is a moan.


	12. Chapter 12

Jared sits down on the end of the bed and pushes the heel of each palm against an eye as if that’s going to help the headache pounding away behind them. The mattress dips next to him and then Jensen’s hand is on the back of his neck, rubbing soothing circles there while he slots in behind Jared on his knees, legs bracketing Jared’s hips.

That instinctual, physical soothing is one of a couple dozen things that have changed in the week since Jensen woke up that Jared seriously doubts his partner's even noticed. Like how he’s still apparently oblivious that Jared had all of Jensen’s stuff officially moved to his room while they were in recovery – though that probably has more to do with how little time Jensen spent in his own room in the preceding month or so than anything he’s consciously avoiding dealing with.

The touching thing though – the comforting thing – is definitely something Jensen’s turning a blind eye to. For that matter, they both are. It’s one thing to recognize how attuned they've become to one another since the bond strengthened, it’s another to actively acknowledge it with words. Jared pushes that thought aside for now and sinks back against Jensen's chest, strong arms wrapping around him from behind.

It had gone better than he'd expected, really, having a night with the team for the first time since they all found out what Jared can really do. There were just as many flashes of fear and uncertainty as he'd have guessed as they each kept catching themselves, realizing that Jared knew exactly what they were feeling. But no one had turned away from him, and no one seemed more angry or hurt than could be reasonably excused by finding out that someone they'd put their trust in for so long had never truly trusted them. Things with Sandy were going to be roughest, but she was also trying harder than anyone else to get back to normal so Jared thought it would probably work out in the end.

For now, though, he'd just assume keep hiding out in their room like they had been ever since they were released from the hospital wing.

Not everything is exactly easy in their room, either, but it’s better than Jared had ever dared hope for himself. He still hasn't managed to say it, though, and that weighs as heavily on him as anything. Not at all because he doesn't still feel it just as acutely as he had back when Jensen was on the brink of disappearing from his life, but because there's still this very realistic fear that Jensen's going to run screaming the second the words are out of his mouth. He knows how Jensen feels - it's not in any way a question of that - it's just that he doubts Jensen's put the pieces together yet, and with his history, being in love probably isn't going to be cause for a parade as far as Jensen's concerned.

And, yes, Jared knows how he has to do it, but maybe he's been putting it off just a little because... well, it's scary, alright? He's seen what Jensen looks like naked and he's seen what he looks like naked and things just are not supposed to fit together that way, bodies cannot be designed to stretch like that, open like that; not and still feel good. Well, aside from how pretty much everything Jensen does to him feels good. Like those tiny, soft kisses Jensen's busy laying along the curve of Jared's neck that really mess with his ability to think. Or the dirty suggestion of a grind Jensen's just barely rubbing against Jared's spine.

That's another change, although it's not quite as obvious as some of the others considering how oversexed Jensen was before. It's different now, in a subtle way that Jared might only be perceiving because of what his power gives him access to; a need now, instead of a want, a compulsion to feel and touch and be everything, to own and be owned and Jared would be kidding himself to think that it doesn't work both ways.

"It's going to be ok, Jay," Jensen assures, rubbing his cheek up against Jared's until he turns his head to meet Jensen's understanding eyes. "They're like your own personal fanclub; they still love you, you just gotta give them time to adjust."

Jared sighs, surrendering to the urge to press his lips softly against the plushness of Jensen’s. "I know, I just... I guess I got spoiled with how easily you accepted it."

His partner smirks, "Yeah, well, I'm awesome," and tugs at Jared's shoulders until he's turned all the way around in the circle of Jensen's arms.

All of that discomfort swirling around in the people he cares about, the ones he values most; it's like being five all over again and picking up those same feelings pouring off of his parents. It's hardly something he'd ever wanted to relive. But then again, back then he hadn't had Jensen; swearing with his eyes and his smile and his deft, massaging fingers that whatever Jared is, it's ok by him. That he'll always be here.

Jared doesn't plan on tackling Jensen to the bed, but that's precisely what happens; a breathy laugh jolting out of his partner as Jared's weight carries them both flat to the mattress. The sound turns into a rumble of satisfaction as Jared recaptures Jensen's mouth in a fierce, elated kiss. He's never going to get tired of kissing Jensen, of the heat that blooms every time he feels Jensen's love pouring into him like sun-warmed velvet in his veins, like breathing honey, like a brand new source of gravity. It's flawless and makes it had to imagine that anything else could ever be better.

"Off," is as much as he can succeed in grunting out around the sensation of his bones melting into pure want; good enough for Jensen since it instantly gets him worming out of his own clothes, trapped partway inside of his shirt when he decides to work on removing Jared's instead.

Far too long later, they're both naked, the sheets bunched up in odd patterns around them where they keep rolling around as they paw at each other. Jared remembers feeling worried and upset a moment ago - a minute, an hour, no way to tell with his head spinning from Jensen – but he recalls it in a dim, manageable sense that the world always seems to fade to when he and Jensen are like this, as though nothing could possibly be insurmountable between them. Just gorgeous, thrumming energy that squeezes out everything cold and hard because there's no room for it with his partner - the man he loves - filling up every last scrap of his being.

That thought, that need, is enough to finally make him whisper, "I want you."

Well, alright, it's not exactly the first time he's ever said it, but this time he's going to follow through and be clear about what he means after Jensen finishes his usual, synapse-searing response of, "Got me, baby."

And that's... God, Jensen makes it hard to remember how to talk. Especially when what Jared wants to say scares the ever-loving crap out of him. He swallows hard around the pounds and pounds worth of twisted scrap metal that seems to have suddenly appeared in his throat and forces the words.

“No,” he shakes his head, finding Jensen’s hand and slowly pulling it lower to cover his backside, fingertips barely brushing the cleft, “I want you.”

He hears Jensen’s breath catch in the same moment that bald-faced shock hits him down the line of their connection. After that, things get muddy; want, worry, protectiveness, confusion and a few dozen other emotions Jared can’t get a good enough grasp on to really suss out. Jensen doesn’t appear to be able to work it out either since he’s just staring at Jared, mouth moving silently on shapes that never form words.

At last he comes out with a choked, “Don’t fuck with me on this, Jared,” to which Jared can only reply with a nervous laugh.

“Not,” he manages after a minute, mouth Sahara dry, body already shaking.

Jensen rolls up so he’s looking down at Jared from his hands and knees, the splotches of red high on his cheeks speaking of desire just as clearly as the swamp of uncertainty-tinted lust Jared can feel coming off of him.

To Jensen’s credit, he doesn’t ask if Jared’s sure, or try to launch into a speech about how Jared doesn’t have to or doesn’t owe him. Instead he’s haltingly spitting out, “I should bottom first.”

Jared not sure what’s funnier; that Jensen – the guy who hasn’t taken his eyes off of Jared’s ass voluntarily in the entire time they’ve known one another – is offering to give up the chance to finally have sex with Jared in order to shelter him or that the impulse to do so is so reflexive that Jensen didn’t even think twice before he made the offer. It’s the romantically blind leading the romantically deaf and dumb and Jared can’t decide if that makes them pathetic or just perfect for each other. Maybe both.

Jared shakes his head again, grinning and bordering on giddy from the dump of endorphins running through him and the ludicrousy of their mutual ineptness. “Not this time,” he says, just a bit more breathless than he intends to, “We can do it any way you want next time, just let me have this first.”

Rationally, he knows Jensen’s right, it would be a lot easier for him to do this than it will be for Jared, but then that’s basically the point. Even the little that he knows about what Jensen did with the men who paid him – bought him – for sex is more than he ever wants to hear, but it’s also enough to tell him that opening himself up to Jared that way – as different as it would be – still wouldn’t be as unique or special as this has to be. It would be easy, natural probably, for Jensen to lay back and take it like any other time and Jared can’t handle the idea of that; that for even one moment Jensen could see him like one of those faceless men Jared will forever dream about hunting down and beating the hell out of. First he needs to prove to Jensen that it would never – could never – be the same feeling between them as it was with those men, no matter what they do, and after that, he’ll be perfectly content to let his partner take over and learn whatever else about the sexual world that Jensen in all his wisdom wants to teach him.

Jensen, suffice to say, looks less than convinced, seeing as he’s not in on any of that particular rationale. He hesitates, worrying his lower lip between his teeth in the most distracting way possible, opening his mouth once more to try and argue Jared down, but Jared’s having none of it.

“It’s ok, I know you’ll take care of me. I trust you.”

The brightness inside Jensen blazes bright enough that Jared would swear it’s burning into his retinas. His partner dives back in, bodies pushed together in a tight line that makes Jared’s skin tingle with the energy built up between them, the wet, frantic kisses he’s pressing across Jared’s lips and face and neck sizzling-hot. It’s like having his arms wrapped around the sun and he never wants to let go.

“Take such good care of you, baby,” Jensen promises, thick with lust and muffled against Jared’s skin, “Make it so good for you. Never gonna want anybody else after I’m done if you.”

Something inside of Jared aches at the realization that Jensen thinks anyone else could be a possibility for Jared after all they’ve been through. Even without the connection running like an ouroboros between them, no one else could possibly come close to what they’ve been through together, what they’ve shared. Jensen will understand though; Jared will spend the rest of his life proving it if that’s what it takes.

He cannot begin to express how glad he is that Jensen had lube among all of the stuff Jared had moved over to his room – that’s one shopping request he’d really prefer never to have to make – particularly once Jensen fumbles it out of the bedside table – without so much as questioning if any would be there – and then gets two slick fingers riding the sensitive skin around Jared’s opening. It’s still nerve-wracking, the gentle circling all around the hole, never quite touching, and even with the slick, it’s hard to wrap his mind around the idea that one of those fingers – let alone something much bigger – could possibly fit inside of him.

Jared’s trained though – not for this, true, but to push his physical and mental limits, to control his responses and not let himself get overwhelmed. If ordinary people can do this on a regular basis, then there’s no reason it shouldn’t be an absolute walk in the park for Jared. No reason at all.

He comes very close to scrambling all the way up the length of the bed when one of Jensen’s fingertips skates across puckered flesh.

Jensen’s there immediately, gentling him through it with his free hand rubbing up and down Jared’s side while he plants soft, teasing kisses on Jared’s belly. Before, it has always been Jensen either letting Jared take the lead, or else goading and pleading and pushing until Jared gives way to his will; this Jensen looking up at him now - calm and patient, not backing down, but giving Jared all the time in the world to get the way he’s shuddering from scalp to sole under control – is a revelation.

Gold-fractured green eyes lock on him, hold him right there until his focus has drawn away from the finger still resting against him. He’s only dimly aware of it as that pressure increases, paying attention instead to the banked longing buzzing through Jensen in time to his heartbeat. It takes him by surprise when the pressure suddenly gives and Jensen's finger is sliding instead of him, the adrenaline of the shock muting the strange, burny-stretch. It's not exactly what Jared would call comfortable, but it's not really painful either and if the swelter consuming Jensen from the inside out is the reaction it's going to keep getting, Jared can deal with the overwhelming urge to squirm.

Jensen's free hand is in Jared's hair now, fingers petting in an ostensibly unconscious circle as he looks down at Jared like he’s something he's never seen before; something incredible and mildly terrifying. His pupils are wide, almost alien and unreal, which seems about as fitting as anything because, for all that Jared's been thinking about doing this for a week - longer, if he's being completely honest - it still feels more like a strange dream than something that's actually happening. Then there's a second fingertip pressing at the boundary where Jensen's digit is slowly sliding in and out of him and this all feels entirely too real.

The second finger hurts more, shocky pain that makes his muscles jump and his body start screaming 'that doesn't go there, get it out'. But Jensen's mouth is on his, swallowing the small sounds Jared can't keep in, distracting him with deliberate swipes of tongue and wet suction that does nothing to reflect the urgency Jared can feel coursing through his partner. It gets better the longer those fingers are in him, the initial ache lulling to a constant pressure that flirts with the idea of feeling good as Jensen carefully starts to thrust with them.

Jared wants to ask what Jensen's first time was like - knows it couldn't possibly have been anything like this and that the answer will probably only make him mad, but he still wonders. Once this is over, he'll ask and hope that whatever it is about him that so often makes Jensen open up will work again so he can at least try to make things better when the time comes for them to switch roles. Now he gasps as the tips of Jensen's fingers find something inside of him that turns the blackness behind his eyelids into a cascade of sparks. He can't keep himself from wriggling this time, hips pumping of their own volition, trying to find that contact again. Jensen chuckles at him, a low, filthy vibration against Jared's parted lips, and tickles that spot again, drinking the moan right off of Jared's tongue.

"That's it, baby. C'mon, open up for me. So good for me," he mutters, voice like burnt sugar. Jared expects more, the same kind of pornographic litany that Jensen's always spilling when he gets his hands on Jared, but all that comes are heavy, panted breaths and enough desire to drown in.

Three fingers feels impossible, like Jared's going to peel right out of his skin or maybe already has; body jerk-twitching in places that should have nothing to do with Jensen's lube-dripping digits pistoning into him. Jensen's making little sounds right along with him, the beginnings of whimpers and groans that shatter somewhere in the middle and hang in the thick air between them. He keeps hitting that place inside of Jared, sending unpredictable jolts of mouth-watering sweetness up his spine in no particular rhythm that Jared can discern - not that he has enough brainpower for it at the moment anyway. It hurts and it feels so good and it's all getting swirled together with how much Jensen's enjoying it, wants it, needs it, to make Jared's head spin and his eyes swim.

Jensen groans, looking down at Jared with frenzied, glazed eyes. "Fuck, Jay, you ready? Tell me you're ready, I wanna- God, driving me up the wall, baby. I gotta- tell me it's ok, Jared, you gotta tell me if it is." He keeps rubbing their engorged lengths together as he babbles, lashes fluttering with each seemingly involuntary buck of his hips. It's doing absolutely nothing to clear Jared's head, but then, at this point, that may be a good thing. Regardless he nods, whines when Jensen immediately kneels up and steals that perfect friction, shudders when he hears the sound of entirely too much lube spattering onto the sheets, squelching along Jensen's dick.

And crap, he'd almost forgotten about that, though he's not sure how he could have. Jensen's dick, going inside of him; in that tiny little hole Jensen's been playing with all this time and that's definitely bigger than even three of his fingers and oh shit, oh hell.

Jensen's lining up; the blunt head of his cock feeling impossibly fatter than it just looked gleaming through his fingers. He looks desperate and crazed and unbelievably beautiful and every ounce of hesitation Jared has melts away under that gaze because this? Seeing Jensen all broken open and euphoric, this is already worth whatever's about to come. Then Jensen's pushing forward and Jared has to dig his fingernails into his palms and hold his breath to make himself go with it.

He can't decide if it's better or worse once Jensen breaks past the initial resistance and the head slips inside with a pop Jared can feel in the roots of his teeth. The original panic-inducing tension of that outer ring is relieved, but now it burns, the drag feeling for too gritty for how much slick he knows Jensen used. His body's still thrashing with 'shouldn't be in there' but Jensen's holding him steady, rubbing his sweat-slick skin and making shushing sounds - all mixed in with grunts - that Jared can barely hear over the pounding of his pulse in his ears and the 'yes, yes, yesyesyes' coming off of Jensen like body heat.

Several fiery eternities pass before Jensen's body is finally snug against Jared's own, at long last all the way inside - so far in that Jared can barely breathe around it, swears it must be pushing at his lungs. Jensen holds statue-still except for his heaving chest as he sucks down air. His forehead presses wetly to Jared's, the perspiration there cool for a moment before it heats between their skin. Damp breaths kiss Jared's lips as they huff against one another, neither able to make a more cohesive attempt at a kiss than that and that - for reasons Jared can't even begin to understand - is the moment the vaguely operational parts of his brain decide to murmur, "I love you."

Jensen's already too still to say that he freezes, but he stops breathing and Jared's fairly certain that for a moment there, the machine-gun heartbeat he can feel against his chest stutters. It's hard to tell though, with Jensen's instantaneous crash of alarm doing its best to sweep him away.

"It's ok," he rushes, still hardly getting in anything vaguely resembling air, "I know you can't say it back, I don't expect you to. I just wanted you to know that it's mutual." Jensen still looks like a sex-fueled deer in the headlights and every emotion he's cycling through is gone too quickly for Jared to get a handle on it, but the brightness is still there, so one way or another, he knows they'll figure it out.

Jared shifts around the pike of Jensen's still-hard cock impaling him - the burn only a dull throb now - and tries flexing his muscles, which at least gets a reaction out of Jensen. Even if that reaction is jumping like he just got stuck with a cattle prod. "Now, could you please fuck me," Jared smirks, driving the awkward curse out to try and make Jensen feel a little more at home in the situation, make it seem a little less serious, "Because if this is as good as it gets, I really feel like I've been misled."

His partner blinks at him and then looks down at the join of their hips as though he's surprised to find himself buried in Jared. Molasses-thick heat oozes through him and, bizarrely, Jared can feel Jensen's dick jerk inside of him in approval.

Tentatively, Jensen begins to thrust, though Jared can't tell if it's about going easy on him or if Jensen's just uncertain about the whole arrangement. After that first thrust, it doesn't much matter, though, because Jensen hits that spot and the intensity of it rockets through Jared, reverbs right along the connection to Jensen and sets them both groaning. Alright, he's starting to see why everyone can't shut up about sex.

The thrusts go deeper, faster, harder after that, making Jared boil from the inside out in this completely outstanding way that he wouldn't have words for even if he could remember words. It's only better because he can feel how good it feels for Jensen; how utterly awe-inspiring the slide of his cock and the slippery dance of tongues is bouncing back and forth between them until it's magnified to ridiculous proportions.

Jared hasn't even been paying much attention to his own dick, so overcome with everything else happening that he doesn't even notice how it's throbbing and dark crimson between them until Jensen starts toying with it. It’s not a stroke precisely, more like Jensen's fingers caressing him, idly playing around the rim of the head, at the sensitive spot underneath, up to the sloppy mouth of the slit. Charged-up, perfect, exactly what he didn't realize he needed until Jensen was doing it.

It's so much, so full all over, so mired in everything Jensen; bits and pieces of the intensity he feels firing off in all directions and he spares a moment to wonder if it's too much so soon after what he put Jensen through but then Jensen mumbles, "Shut up," so Jared just does.

He lays back and rides it, the tension building higher and higher into both of them - someday down the line they're going to have to see if they can make a sexual encounter last past the five minute mark but today is not that day. The coil of heat at the base of Jensen's spine is obvious, almost palpable, the lines between them so blurry and uneven that the mirror image of it nestled low in Jared's gut is only making things more confusing.

Jensen leans in close, trembling with the strain or the passion - it’s impossible to tell which. The solemn confusion in him feels off in contrast to all of the right flowing through Jared, like fur rubbed the wrong direction. He's too close for Jared's eyes to focus properly and the way he refuses to stop thrusting only makes it harder.

"Again," he chokes, releasing Jared's dick to brace his forearms on either side of Jared's head and makes his thrusts even more relentless. The sensation robs Jared of any chance he might have had to think out something more explanatory that mindlessly garbling back with kiss-thickened lips what he knows Jensen's asking for.

"I love you. So much."

Emotions flitter through Jensen like a flock of dark-edged butterflies, brushing all over and never quite landing before they've taken off again and then it's all wiped clean as his face contorts and he comes. That's all it takes for Jared, wave cresting with the disjointed feel of Jensen twitching inside of him and the world fades out at the edges, nothing but him and Jensen and this feeling cycling between them like they're sharing a circulatory system. It's nothing like he hoped for - so far beyond anything he could even have imagined - and he knows that the words can't be passing Jensen's lips because his partner's mouth is crushed against Jared's, but he hears the whisper at the back of his mind in Jensen's voice anyway.

I love you too.

EPILOGUE

"Alpha Team is good to go at 15 degrees," Jared announces over the comm-link. They wait. Wait some more. Jared shoots Jensen an annoyed look at the same time his boot starts to jiggle on the red rock-face they're perched on as though he's fighting hard not to tap his foot. Jensen can't hold back the smirk when his partner finally can't take it anymore - six seconds longer than Jensen was betting - and snaps, "Gabe!"

"Here! I'm here!" Tigerman squeaks from the other end of the line, an audible whump following it like fabric hitting the ground, "Shit."

"Everything ok, Gabey?" Jensen drawls, letting a little of his own frustration leak in. Jared shoots him a chastening look like he's any better but there's that not-smile playing at the corner of his lips that says he's alright with it.

"Yep, I'm fine," Gabe grunts, probably struggling back into his uniform. Christ. Jensen will admit that Gabe's got a handy power and all, it'd just be a lot handier if half the time he phases through a wall he didn't end up leaving his clothes - and comm - behind.

Jared sighs and covers his face with one giant palm before he says - with reasonably little irritation - "Let us know when you're set Gabe." He smiles wryly at Jensen and rolls his eyes up toward the heavens.

They're coming up on morning from the wrong side, dawn an hour so from hitting the horizon, but it's clear enough that the blue desert light catches on Jared's cheekbones, his lips, makes Jensen want to touch.

The man in his life - he's still not exactly comfortable with labels, but he quit balking whenever Jared calls him his boyfriend years ago - looks more like nineteen than twenty-nine; face still perfectly smooth, just a hint of that fullness of youth around his jawline - Jared still blames him for his complete inability to grow facial hair. Jensen's willing to condemn them to an eternity of getting carded if it means his power can buy him more years with Jared. Yeah, fuck it, he's sappy, alright. A decade plus with a guy who literally lives his feelings will do that to a man.

Jared catches him looking, raises an eyebrow, and Jensen could look away, but Jared would know, so instead he just lets his eyes drag like a promise over those lean, rubber-swathed muscles he fell for on day one.

Jared shakes his head, grinning when he playfully shoves at Jensen's shoulder. "Would you concentrate, please," he demandx. Jensen's about to jump in with exactly what he's concentrating on when Gabe grumbles "I am, I am!"

"Not you, Gabe," both Misha and Sandy intone flatly - Misha from the base the ridge to their left, Sandy from where she's watching them via satellite back at the facility.

Now it's Jensen's turn to raise an eyebrow at his partner. Gabe was Jared's first official addition to the team since he took over from Jeff as Director and none of them had quit giving him shit about it ever since - even Chad calls in from the New York headquarters just to rag on Jay about his replacement. Tigerman's not even a bad kid really - unreliable power aside - but what fun would it be if they didn't all have a common theme to harp on when they meet up with Tom and Alona for holidays? None at all.

Jared shrugs helplessly and leans in just a little so their arms form a long line of shared heat. Jensen's fingers catch at the tips of Jared's and even without the skin-on-skin he can feel the difference.

Tigerman at last comes over the link that he's ready and Jared get the affirmative from both Misha and Sandy before hooking up to the rappelling line they've secured in the cliff-face. He steps up to the edge and turns his back, lingering a moment to shoot Jensen a smile and a wink.

“See you at home, sweetie-pie!”

Jensen just has time to toss up his middle finger before Jared takes the first step backward and begins his decent down the cliff side.

He hooks himself up quickly and efficiently, every movement practiced to the point of second nature, freeing up his mind to think I love you too, douchebag as hard as he can. Jared’s laugh is soft – they are attempting for some base level of stealth here after all – but Jensen picks it up over the comm. He’s actually gotten pretty good at saying it out loud, even when everybody else is listening in like this, but he likes it better this way, something just for them; something that gets Jared shooting him that warm fuzzy feeling he does so well.

Jensen watches until Jared’s safely on the ground, shooting him a smile he can’t possibly see in the dark from this distance but knowing Jared will feel it anyway. Then he turns around and backs up to the edge, rides that one reflexive moment of fear-thrill, and then steps back and lets the rope slide through his glove as fast as he dares.

If there’s one thing he’s learned from all of these years of freakishly-easy partnership, it’s that, if he needs it, Jared will always be there to catch him.


End file.
